hat would
become of the nest and nestlings, if the home-keepers had as much to say
as their mates? She sat calmly on the fence, as I passed, or dressed her
plumage on the branch of a tree, uttering no sound except, rarely, the
common mewing call. She was a wise little thing, too. When I caught her
carrying a locust, and at once concluded she had young to feed, as
quickly as if she had read my thoughts she let her prey drop, looking at
me, as who should say, "You see I am not carrying food." But though I
admired her quick wit and respected her motive, I did not believe the
little mother, and despite the attractiveness of the head of the
household I kept close watch upon her, hoping to track her home. I soon
observed that she always rose from the tangle at one spot near the elm;
but vainly did I creep through what once might have been a path between
the blackberries, though I did have the satisfaction of seeing the
singer uneasy, and of feeling sure that, as the children say, I was
"very warm."

[Sidenote: _A CUNNING DAME._]

Day after day, in fair weather or foul, in cold or heat, I took my way
down the lane, and seated myself as comfortably as circumstances would
admit, to spy upon the brown-and-gold family; and day after day I was
watched in turn,--sometimes by the singer, restlessly flying from tree
to tree, peering down to study me from all sides, and amusing me with
all his varied eccentricities of movement and song, if one may thus name
his vocal performances. Occasionally madam condescended to entertain,
or, what is more probable, tried to perplex me by her tactics. She
scorned the transparent device of drawing me away from the dangerous
vicinity by pretending to be hurt, or by grotesque exhibitions. Her plan
was far more cunning than these: it was to point out to the eager seeker
after forbidden knowledge, convenient places where the nest might
be--but certainly was not,--and so to bewilder the spy, by many hints,
that she would not realize it when the real passage to the waiting
nestlings was made. The wise little matron would alight on the fence and
look anxiously down, seemingly about to drop into the nest; then, as if
she really could not make up her mind to do so while I looked on, fly to
a blackberry spray and do it all over again. In a moment she would
repeat the performance from an elm sapling, and again turn anxious and
lingering glances in still another direction. Then, as if now she surely
must go ho