ungainly creatures they were at that moment to the
full-grown and feathered beauties they would be when they appeared on
the tree; to see them getting their education, learning to follow their
parents about, and finally seeking their own food, still keeping
together in a family party, as I had seen them once before,
elsewhere,--lovely, innocent younglings whom surely no one could find it
in his heart to call "butchers" or "assassins." Then, too, I wanted to
see the head of the family, who in the character of spouse had shown
himself so devoted, so above reproach, in the new role of father and
teacher, in which I had no doubt he would be equally admirable.

But dearly as I love birds, there are other ties still dearer, and just
then there came a call that made me leave the pair with their new joy,
pack my trunks, and speed, night and day, half way across the continent,
beyond the Great Divide, to a certain cozy valley in the heart of the
Rocky Mountains.

Before I left, however, I committed the little family in the thorn-tree
to the care of my friend the bird-lover; and a few weeks later there
came over the mountains to me this conclusion to the story, written by
Mrs. Nelly Hart Woodworth, of St. Albans:--

"I was at the shrikes' nest Thursday last. I sat down on the knoll
beyond the nest, and waited quietly for fifteen minutes. No signs of
life in nest or neighborhood, save the yearning cry of the lark, as it
alighted on the top of the thorn-tree. After I was convinced that, in
some unaccountable manner, the shrikes had been spirited away before
they were half big enough, I changed my place to the other side of the
tree, out of sight from the nest. When I had been there for a long time,
I heard distinctly a low whispering in the nest, and lo! the butcher
babies had become sentient beings, and were talking very softly and
sweetly among themselves. They had evidently miscalculated about my
departure. Then two or three little heads stuck out above the edge, and
the soft stirring of baby wings was apparent. They cuddled and nestled
and turned themselves, and one little butcher hoisted himself upon the
upper side of the nest, stood upright briefly and beat his wings, then
sank into the nest, which was full of life and movement. So much for
that day.

"Friday one stood upon the edge of the nest, and others looked out, but
no feeding bird came.

[Sidenote: _SHAKEN OUT OF THE NEST._]

"Saturday I was in fortune, as I met