WITH THE THICKET BIRDS 135 



The early June days stole by, and for the 

 thicket-dwellers each day was a time of moment, 

 and the note-book grew bulky. The visiting of 

 a blackpoll warbler — last of the migrants noted 

 — the marvellous growth of the youngster 

 robins — they left the nest on the eleventh day 

 — the leisurely manner in which the grackle 

 laid her eggs — every second day — the dis- 

 covery of the song sparrow's nestful of five 

 young dependents out in the grass-plot just be- 

 yond the trees; the catbird that sang so beauti- 

 fully to the moon at midnight; the hatching of 

 the thrasher family — four of them, one egg 

 proving infertile — the grackle that hanged 

 himself when he attempted to carry some strong 

 white thread through the willows; the turtle 

 dove's nest that was blown down in the night, 

 the young perishing cruelly on the ground; the 

 wren that built in the fruit tin stuck up in the 

 tree and frayed out the cotton rope to get lining 

 for the twig-structure; — these and many more 

 things worth while went down in the log of the 

 thicket birds. 



The one turtle dove mother was almost a 

 puzzle. From the day on which she was dis- 

 covered upon the old robin's nest, she seemed 



