west limb of a tree, looking at you with clear, calm
eyes. He will not fly; he will even answer you. You may stand there half
an hour and talk to him and hear his low replies. It seems as if it were
the easiest thing in the world to inspire him with perfect confidence,
to coax him to a real intimacy. But there is a limit to his
trustfulness. When he has a nest and little ones to protect, as already
shown, he is a different bird; he is wild with terror and distress, and
refuses to be comforted when one approaches the sacred spot.

This unfortunate distrust of one's intentions makes it very hard for a
student who loves the individual bird to watch his nest. One can't
endure to give pain to the gentle and winsome creature. The mournful,
despairing cry of both parents, "ke-o-ik! ke-o-ik! ke-o-ik!" constantly
repeated, makes me, at least, feel like a robber and a murderer, and no
number of "facts" to be gained will compensate me for the suffering thus
caused.

One more phase of veery character I was surprised and delighted to
learn. Sitting on a log in the edge of the woods one evening, just at
sunset, I listened to the singing of one of these birds quite close to
me, but hidden from sight. I had never been so near a singer, and I was
surprised to hear, after every repetition of his song, a low response, a
sort of whispered "chee." Was it his mate answering, or criticising his
music? Was it the first note of his newly-fledged offspring? Or could it
be _sotto voce_ remarks of the bird himself? It was impossible to
decide, and I went home much puzzled to account for it; but a day or two
later the mystery was solved,--the thrush showed himself to be a
humorist.

The odd performance by which I discovered this fact I saw through my
closed blind. The bird was in plain sight on a small dead tree, but it
was a retired spot, where he was accustomed to see no one, and he
evidently did not suspect that he had a listener.

He had eaten his fill from a cluster of elderberries I had hung on the
tree, and he lingered to sing a little, as he often did. First he
uttered a call, aloud, clear "quee-o," and followed it instantly by a
mocking squawk in an undertone. I could hardly believe my eyes and ears,
and at once gave much closer attention to him. As if for the express
purpose of convincing me that I had not been mistaken, he instantly
repeated his effort; and after doing so two or three times, he poured
out his regular song in his swee