t rather earlier than usual, half
expecting to find Master Cuckoo grown to that perch. It appeared,
however, that he had torn himself away, for he was not to be seen. The
little mother, who was on the nest, had readily learned that we intended
no harm, but her peppery little spouse learned nothing; he was just as
unreconciled to us the last day as the first.

This time he tried to keep out of sight. First we heard his call far
off, then a low "cuck-a-ruck" quite near, to which she replied with a
gentle "coo-oo" hardly above her breath.

It was soothing, but it did not altogether soothe. He came up from
behind us with another dangling worm in his mouth, slipped silently
through the bushes to the nest, and in a moment departed by the back way
without a word. Then we went nearer, looked once more upon the shy but
brave little mother, and went our way.

We did not suspect it, but that was our last sight of the cuckoo family
at home; the next day the place was empty and deserted.

I was smitten with remorse. Were we the cause of the calamity? Had the
poor birds carried off the babies? Or had, perchance, another nest
tragedy occurred? We looked carefully; there were no signs of a
struggle. They had apparently flown in peace. Yet six days before one
was still in the egg and the other newly hatched. Only two days ago the
pair looked like tiny black cushions covered with white pins, and not a
quarter the size of the parents. Moreover, they had been sat upon every
day.

In this painful uncertainty we were obliged to leave the matter; but
although we saw no more of them, they did not pass out of our minds.
Every day we looked in the woods and listened for cuckoo voices, but
every day we were disappointed, until about eleven days later.

We were walking slowly down what we called the veery road in the woods,
far over the other side from the cuckoo's nest, when we heard a very
low but strange baby cry in some thick bushes. It was a constant
repetition of one note, a gentle "tut, tut, tut."

We were naturally eager to see the youngster, and we carefully
approached the spot. As we came near, a cuckoo flew up, scrambled
through a tree, and disappeared. Could it be a cuckoo baby we had heard?
In an instant the fugitive seemed to think better of her intention to
fly. Perhaps she was conscience-smitten for deserting the little one,
for she returned in plain sight, though at some distance. She began at
once calling and posturing, c