as sitting composedly on the
veranda writing letters, when restlessness seized me, and I resolved to
take a quiet walk. I sauntered slowly down the road, towards the woods,
of course; all roads in that charming place led to the woods.

I had nearly reached the "Sunset Corner," where I had a half-formed
intention of resting and then turning back, when my eyes fell upon--but
hold! I will not describe it, lest I enlighten one more collector, and
aid in the robbery, perhaps the death, of one more bird-mother. Suffice
it to say what I saw resembled, though not perfectly, the surroundings
of a veery's nest as described in the books.

Of course there could be no nest there, I thought, yet the ruling
passion asserted itself at once. It would at least do no harm to look. I
left the path, walked carelessly up to the spot, and looked at it. It
seemed empty of life; but as I gazed, there gradually took form a head,
a pair of anxious eyes fixed upon mine, a beak pointed upward, and there
was my nest! almost at my feet.

Joy and surprise contended within me. I thought not of the mother's
anxiety; I stood and stared, absolutely paralyzed with delight.

But not for long. I remembered my friend who had not found the tawny
thrush's nest, and with whom I must instantly share my happiness, and
carefully marking the locality, not to lose what I had so accidentally
found, and might so easily lose, I moved quietly away till I reached
the road. Then I hurried to an opening in the trees from which the house
could be seen. Here I stopped; the letter-writer looked up. I waved my
green bough in triumph above my head, and with the other hand I
beckoned.

"A veery's nest!" she thought at once. Away went paper and pen, and in a
moment she joined me. Together we stood beside the beautiful sitting
thrush, so brave, though no doubt suffering from deadly terror. Then we
slowly walked away, rejoicing. It was so near the house! so easy to
watch! the bird not at all afraid! All the way home we congratulated
ourselves.

The next morning our first thought was of the veery's nest, and on
starting out for the day we turned in that direction. Alas! the old
story! The nest was overturned and thrown out of place, the leaves were
trampled; there had evidently been a struggle of some kind. No birds, no
eggs, not a bit of broken shell--nothing was left, except one dark brown
spotted feather from a large bird, whether hawk or owl I shall never
know, for neglect