erors, though such we
felt ourselves, but as a disguise to hide our heads. We daubed our faces
here and there with an odorous (not to say odious) preparation warranted
to discourage too great familiarity on the part of the residents already
established in that spot. We subsided into silence.

The birds returned, but were still wary. As before, the male perched
high and kept a sharp eye out on the country around, and I have no doubt
soon espied us in our retreat. Madam again tried to "screw her courage
up" to visit that nest. Nearer and nearer she came, pausing at every
step, looking around and calling to her mate to make sure he was near.
At last, just as she seemed about to take the last step and go in, and
we were waiting breathless for her to do it, a terrific sound broke the
silence. The big dog, protector and constant companion of my
fellow-student, overcome by the torment of mosquitoes, and having no
curiosity about tanagers to make him endure them, had yielded to his
emotions and sneezed. Away went the tanager family, and, laughing at the
absurd accident, away we went too, happy at having discovered the nest,
and planning to come the next day. We came next day, and many days
thereafter, but never again did we see the birds near. They abandoned
the nest, doubtless feeling that they had been driven away by a
convulsion of nature.

One day, somewhat later, in the winter wren's quarter, where there were
pools left by a heavy rain, we met them again. Madam was bathing, and
her husband accompanied her as guard and protector. They flew away
together. All of June we heard him sing, and we often followed him, but
never again did we surprise a secret of his, till the very last day of
the month. We had been making a visit to our veery nests, and on our way
back noticed that the tanager was more than usually interested in our
doings. He seemed very busy too, with the air of a person of family.
While we were watching to see what it meant, he caught a flying insect
and held it in his mouth. Then we knew he had little folk to feed, so
we seated ourselves on the fungus log, and waited for him to point one
out. He did. He could not resist giving that delicate morsel to his
first-born. With many wary approaches, he dropped at last into the
scanty undergrowth, and there, a foot above the ground, we saw the young
tanager. He was a little dumpling of a fellow, with no hint in his
baby-suit of the glory that shall clothe him by and b