134 OUT WITH THE BIRDS 



Madam Thrasher first allowed her five grayish 

 eggs to be exposed to the gaze of the visitor. 

 Apparently she knew now that her secret was 

 out; and instead of sitting close as before, she 

 dashed out angrily at the intruder, screamed 

 shrilly — a most peculiar threat, entreaty; and 

 whistle all in one — bit savagely at a finger ex- 

 tended toward her, and then hopped about a 

 few feet above the nest, with tail drooping, beak 

 held high, yellow eye ablaze, rusty coat arumple, 

 and altogether much more a picture of anger 

 than of timidity. Her mate had joined her at 

 the first call, but he was a comparatively mild- 

 mannered chap and merely scolded a bit from 

 a safer distance. 



Perhaps it was this contagious fury of the 

 thrasher that animated a robin mother close by, 

 for when she was disturbed from her three, 

 newly hatched, pink young, — the nest was in 

 the top of a fallen poplar — she also darted upon 

 her visitor and David-like smote the foe on the 

 forehead. The inclination to dodge such an on- 

 slaught was quite irresistible, and though the 

 shock of battle was but a bunt from her sturdy 

 little breast, it was a pretty good bump for a 

 little robin mother. 



