look of things, for her children were out
of the nest, and behold!--a horse and rider were under her tree. She
tried to coax the unruly nestlings to follow her into the upper stories,
but they would not go.

[Illustration: The Swing Nest of the Hummer.

(From a Photograph.)]

Although not ready to be led, one of the infants soon felt that it would
be nice to go alone. When a bird first leaves the nest it goes about
very gingerly, but this little fellow now began to feel his strength and
the excitement of his freedom. He wiped his tongue on a branch, and
then, to my astonishment, his wings began to whirl as if he were getting
up steam, and presently they lifted him from his twig, and he went
whirring off as softly as a hummingbird moth, among the oak sprays. His
nerves were evidently on edge, for he looked around at the sound of
falling leaves, started when Billy sneezed, and turned from side to
side very apprehensively, in spite of his out-in-the-world, big-boy
airs. He may have felt hampered by his unused wings, for, as he sat
there waiting for his mother to come, he stroked them out with his bill
to get them in better working order. That done, he leaned over, rounded
his shoulders, and pecked at a leaf as if he were as much grown up as
anybody.

Of all the beautiful hummingbirds' nests I saw in California, three are
particularly noteworthy because of their positions. One cup was set down
on what looked like an inverted saucer, in the form of a dark green oak
leaf wound with cobweb. That was in the oak beside the ranch-house.
Another one was on a branch of eucalyptus, set between two leaves like
the knot in a bow of stiff ribbon. To my great satisfaction, the
photographer was able to induce the bird to have a sitting while she
brooded her eggs. The third nest I imagined belonged to the bird who
took up her floor because Billy and I looked at her. If she were, her
fate was certainly hard, for her eggs were taken by some one, boy or
beast. Her nest was most skillfully supported. It was fastened like the
seat of a swing between two twigs no larger than knitting-needles, at
the end of a long drooping branch. It was a unique pleasure to see the
tiny bird sit in her swing and be blown by the wind. Sometimes she went
circling about as though riding in a merry-go-round; and at others the
wind blew so hard her round boat rose and fell like a little ship at
sea.

XIII.

IN THE SHADE OF THE OAKS.

THERE were ha