IN THE CRADLE. 149 



the dead stick, taking its exact bearings be- 

 tween three trees, drew a few grass-stems to- 

 gether in a braid at the margin so that we should 

 not lose what we had so accidentally gained, and 

 then we left them. 



During this inspection of the nest, the "poet 

 of the year " and his spouse were perched on two 

 neighboring trees, utterly unmoved by our move- 

 ments. They were, no doubt, so perfectly con- 

 fident of the security of the hiding-place that it 

 never occurred to them even to look to see what 

 we three giants were doing. At least, such we 

 judged were their sentiments by the change in 

 their manners somewhat later, when they thought 

 we were likely to make discoveries. 



The meadow itself had been our delight for 

 weeks. When we arrived, in the beginning of 

 June, it was covered with luxuriant clumps of 

 blue violets, and great bunches of blue-eyed 

 grass that one might gather by the handful at 

 one picking. Later the higher parts were 

 thickly sprinkled with white where 



" Gracefully as does the fawn, 

 Sweet Marguerites their dainty heads uphold," 



while the hollows were golden with buttercups. 

 Then the grass under the warm June sun 

 stretched up inch by inch till it was three or four 

 feet high and very thick. Meanwhile a bobo- 

 link or two, and as many meadow-larks had 



