ANOTHER TRAGEDY. 117 



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 beau- 

 tiful 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 our- 

 selves. 



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 neglecting to take it at the moment, 

 it was gone when I thought of it as a witness. 



Again the old longing for a nest assailed me; 

 but I was not without hope, for I had my hint. 

 I had found out what sort of places the veeries 



