e the bird almost to
a twig, but nobody cared if I could. It was on the other side of the
brook and the deep gully through which it ran, and they who had that
youngster in charge could laugh at me.

But I knew the way up the brookside. I went down the road to the bars,
crossed the water on stepping-stones, and in a few minutes entered a
cow-path that wandered up beside the stream. All was quiet; the young
thrush no doubt had been hushed. They were waiting for me to pass by, as
I often did, for that was a common walk of mine. On this log I sat one
day to watch a woodchuck; a little further on was the rock from which I
had peeped into a robin's nest, where one egg had been alone a week, and
I never saw a robin near it.

At length I reached the path that ran up the bank where I usually turned
and went to the pasture, for beyond this the cow-path descended, and
looked damp and wild, as if it might once have been the way of the cows,
but now was abandoned. Still all was quiet, and I thought of my letters
unanswered, of my slippers, and--and I turned to go back.

Just at that moment that unlucky young thrush opened his mouth for a
cry; the birds had been too sure. I forgot my letters again, and looked
at the path beyond. I thought I could see a dry way, so I took a step
or two forward. This was too much! this I had never before done, and I
believe those birds were well used to my habits, for the moment I passed
my usual bounds a cry rang out, loud, and a bird flew past my head. She
alighted near me. It was a tawny thrush; and when one of those shy
birds, who fly if I turn my head behind the blinds, gets bold, there's a
good reason for it. I thanked madam for giving me my cue; I knew now it
was her baby, and I walked slowly on.

I had to go slowly, for the placing of each foot required study. It is
surprising what a quantity of water will stand on the steep sides of a
mountain. Some parts of this one were like a marsh, or a saturated
sponge, and everywhere a cow had stepped was a small pool. As I
proceeded the thrush grew more and more uneasy. She came so near me that
I saw she had a gauzy-winged fly in her mouth, another proof that she
had young ones near. She called, without opening her beak, her usual low
"quee."

Finding a dry spot, and the baby-cry having ceased, I sat down to
consider and to wait. Then the bird seemed suddenly to remember how
compromising her mouthful was, and she planted herself on a branch
before