ay's excitement. Number three was out on
the tree. I could hear number two still crying and squawking in the
garden, and from the position and labors of the male I concluded that
number one was in the next lot. It was a dismal, damp morning, every
grass-blade loaded with water, and a heavy fog driving in from the sea.
I hoped number three would know enough to stay at home, but his fate was
upon him, and no rain was ever wet enough to overcome destiny. At about
eight o'clock he stretched his little wings and flew to the ground,--a
very good flight for his family, nearly thirty feet, twice as far as
either of his predecessors had gone; silently, too,--no fuss about it.
He began at once the baby mocker's hop with lifted wings, headed for the
west fence, jumped upon the lower board, squeezed through and was off
down the garden before the usual crowd of spectators had collected to
strive for his head. I was delighted. The parents, who were not near
when he flew, came back soon and found him at once. I left him to them
and returned to my place.

But silence seemed to have fallen upon the cedar, late so full of life.
In vain I listened for another cry; in vain I watched for another visit
from the parents. All were busy in the garden and lot, and if any baby
were in that nest it must surely starve. Occasionally a bird came back,
hunted a little over the old ground in the yard, perched a moment on the
fence, and saluted me with a low squawk, but their interest in the place
was plainly over.

After two hours I concluded the nest was empty; and a curious
performance of the head of the late family convinced me it was so. He
came quite near to me, perched on a bush in the yard, fixed his eyes on
me, and then, with great deliberation, first huffed, then squawked, then
sang a little, then flew. I do not know what the bird meant to say, but
this is what it expressed to me: "You've worried us all through this
trying time, but you didn't get one of our babies! Hurrah!"

In the afternoon I had the nest brought down to me. For foundation it
had a mass of small twigs from six to eight inches long, crooked and
forked and straight, which were so slightly held together that they
could only be handled by lifting with both hands, and placing at once in
a cloth, where they were carefully tied in. Within this mass of twigs
was the nest proper, thick and roughly constructed, three and a half
inches in inside diameter, made of string, rags, newspa