8 American Birds 



in one grand charge. He must have won her, for the pair 

 built a home In the Virginia creeper. They took one of 

 the loose strings that had been used to tie up the vines 

 and wove it into the fabric of their home; if the floor 

 beneath gave way, they would surely have a support from 

 above. 



The way the mother would light on her nest was a 

 marvel to me. She always stopped on the dead twig of 

 a maple before dropping to her home. I saw her do It 

 several times. She came at the nest like a meteoric streak. 

 I held my breath lest the whole thing be splintered to 

 atoms, for she hit the little cup without the slightest pause 

 that I could see, yet she lit as lightly as the touch of float- 

 ing thistle-down. 



Below the hummer's nest the water trickled down 

 the basin of the canon. In places It formed pools and 

 dropped over the rocky edges. One of these tiny basins 

 was the hummer's bath-tub. It was shallow enough at the 

 edge for her to wade. For a moment her wing-tips and 

 tail would skim the surface, and it was all over. She 

 dressed and preened with all the formality of a queen. 

 After the bath I watched her circle about the clusters of 

 geraniums and drink at the honey cups of the columbine. 

 She seemed only to will to be at a flower and she was 

 there; the hum of the wings was all that told the secret. 

 She was a marvel in the air. She backed as easily as she 

 darted forward. She side-stepped, rose, and dropped as 

 easily as she poised. 



While the nestlings were very young the mother never 

 left them alone long at a time. If the day was warm. If 

 the sun shone on the nest, the mother hovered over with 



