r
branches; and when he did come around, his mate flew at him, whether to
praise or to punish could only be guessed, for he at once disappeared
before her. After two or three episodes of this sort he remained about
the tree, and occasionally contributed a mite to the family sustenance.

The next morning, at half past seven, I resumed my seat as usual, and
very soon saw I was too late. Both parents were busily flitting about
the tree, but never once went near the old home; moreover, when the sun
reached the magical point where he revealed the inside of the nest, lo,
it was empty!

Either there had been but one other bairn, and he had got out before I
did,--things happen so rapidly in the redstart family,--or there had
been a tragedy, I could not discover which. Neither could I find a young
bird on that tree, though I was sure, by the conduct of the parents,
that at least one remained.

Now that no one's feelings could be hurt by the operation, I had a limb
cut off the apple-tree, and the little home I had watched with so great
interest brought down to me. Nothing could be daintier or more secure
than that snug little structure. Placed on an upright branch, just below
the point where five branchlets, a foot or more long, sprang out to
shelter, and closely surrounded by seven twigs, of few inches but many
leaves, it was a marvel I had been able to see it at all. The redstarts
might be lively and restless, but they were good workers. So firmly was
that nest fastened to its branch, resting on one-twig and embraced by
two others, like arms, that to remove it would destroy it. Strips of
something like grapevine bark, with a few grass-blades and a material
that looked like hornets' or other insects' nest, formed the outside,
while long horsehairs made the soft lining. Though strong and firm, it
was on the sides so thin, that, as mentioned above, the movements of the
young could be seen through it.

This pretty cup, around which so many hopes had centred, was of a size
for a fairy's homestead,--hardly two inches inside diameter, and less
than two inches deep. I carried it off as a memento of a delightful June
among the hills of the old Bay State.

V.

WHEN NESTING IS OVER.

"When the birds fly past
And the chimes ring fast
And the long spring shadows sweet shadow cast,"

comes the most attractive time of year to the bird-lover,--the
baby-days, when the labors and anxieties of the nest being over, proud