KEEPING STILL IN THE WOODS. 119 



friend passed along. I lingered a moment, for 

 it was a lovely spot, attractive to birds as to 

 bird-lovers, and high up in the air on the up- 

 turned roots of a fallen tree 



" an elder or two 

 Foamed over with blossoms white as spray." 



While I stood there admiring the brave little 

 bush that kept on living and blooming, though 

 lifted into an unnatural position by the tree at 

 whose feet it had grown, some mysterious draw- 

 ing made me look closely at a spot beside the 

 road which we had passed many times without 

 special notice. There I found our third veery 

 nest, the mother bird sitting. 



Henceforth, every morning we went up the 

 veery road, and before each little nursery we sat 

 us down to watch and study. It was necessary 

 to be very quiet, the birds in the saplings were 

 so nervous; but keeping still in the woods in 

 summer is not the easy performance it is else- 

 where, though great are the inducements. From 

 one side comes the chirp of the winter wren, 

 from the other, low, excited calls of veeries, and 

 nothing but absolute quiet seems necessary to 

 capture some of the charming secrets of their 

 lives. Meanwhile a dancing and singing host 

 collects around one's head. I call up my phi- 

 losophy ; I resolve not to care, though I shall be 

 devoured. My philosophy stands the strain ; I 



