personage, who was the
accepted providence of half the birds in the vicinity, and on terms of
great familiarity with some of them, threw out narrow strips of cloth of
various colors, to tempt the small nest-builder. At first the wise
little madam refused to use the gayer pieces, but being beguiled by the
device of sewing a bright one between two of duller hue, her scruples
were overcome; and after that her fall into total dependence was easy
and complete. She accepted the most brilliant pieces that were offered,
and built her nest therewith.

But alas, from the moment of yielding to her vanity or her love for
ease, troubles began in the flycatcher family. The robin nesting in an
adjoining tree reproved her by tugging at the gay strings that hung out;
the English sparrow across the way set herself up as a conservator of
morals, and, to teach Madam Chebek modesty becoming her size, tried to
pull the whole to pieces. Then when Chebek, who is no coward, had
succeeded in putting an end to neighborly interference, the nest began
to show a deplorable disinclination to "stay put." Whether the material
could not be properly fastened, or whether the bird was so demoralized
as to shirk ordinary precautions, the fact is, that every breeze shook
the little structure, and four completed nests of this unnatural sort
fell, one after another, in ruins to the ground. Then motherly instinct
came to the rescue: she refused further aid, removed herself to a
distance, built a new nest, after the accredited flycatcher fashion, and
it is supposed brought out her brood safely, if rather late. So hard it
is in the bird-world, as in the human, to help, and not hurt.

[Sidenote: _STRANGE CRIES UP THE ROAD._]

More interesting, even, than this flycatcher episode was an adventure
one evening when I walked far out on a road, one side of which was deep
woods, while the other was bordered by pasture and meadows. My object in
going was to hear a white-throated sparrow, who often sang in that
vicinity.

I had been resting on my camp-stool very quietly for half an hour, and
was just thinking it time to return home, when a strange sort of
clacking cry startled me. At first I thought it was made by a frog with
a bad cold; but it grew louder, and changed in quality, till it became a
whining sound that might be made either by a baby or by some small
animal. I looked very carefully up the road whence the sound seemed to
come, but saw nothing excepting a ro