So far as I know no observer has re- 

 corded this pleading, pathetic note 

 from the infant hummers so noticeable 

 whenever I came too near. The branch 

 replaced and the disturbing element 

 removed, they reappeared above the 

 nest's rim, the slight form of the mother 

 palpitant as she hovered near. Early 

 in their lives when a cold rain followed 

 the long drouth, her enforced absences 

 were brief; hasty trips merely to the 

 flower garden in the rear of the house, 

 or to the flowering beans in the next 

 yard, a favorite lunch counter patron- 

 ized every hour ordinarily. 



The leaf that served to so good pur- 

 pose in the sunny days became heavy 

 with raindrops, tilted to one side, and 

 little streams trickled down upon her 

 back and ran off her tail, while big 

 drops splashing down from the higher 

 branches threatened to annihilate the 

 whole affair. Undaunted still, my Lilli- 

 putian mother hugged her precious 

 charges, with drooping tail hanging 

 over the edge of the nest, head drawn 

 into her feathers, her whole appear- 

 ance as limp and bedraggled as a hen 

 caught out in a shower. When the in- 

 fants had seen two weeks of life they 

 refused to be longer brooded. From 

 this time on they matured rapidly, fill- 

 ing the nest so full that my lady found 

 no place for the sole of her foot, and 

 often alighted upon their backs to give 

 them food. In four days more their 



baby dresses were quite outgrown. 

 These were replaced by green gradu- 

 ating gowns of stylish texture and fit, 

 and, as my bird book stated that young 

 hummers left the nest when a week old, 

 I was watching eagerly for their debut. 



Long before this the nest proper be- 

 gan to show signs of hard service. Be- 

 fore its occupants left it became a thing 

 of the past, positively dissolving to a 

 mere shelf or platform, and one side 

 falling out entirely, the imperturbable 

 twins sitting or standing upon what re- 

 mained, content in the silence that all 

 completed tasks deserve. 



As I have said before, one of these 

 little grown-ups surpassed the other in 

 size and vigor, insisting gently or for- 

 cibly upon the best standing-place, and 

 vibrating its wings for several seconds 

 at a time. Plainly this one would be 

 the first to launch upon the world. 



Twenty-two days after hatching it 

 spread its wings without apparent effort 

 and alighted upon a neighboring twig. 

 Clearly, life was regarded from a ma- 

 ture standard as it preened its plumage 

 and looked about with an undaunted 

 air. 



Two days later the smaller twin fol- 

 lowed the example, reaching the upper 

 branches as easily as if flight were an 

 every-day occurrence, both birds flit- 

 ting about the familiar tree, and fed by 

 the parent, until after the third day, 

 they were seen no more. 



There is something noble, simple, 

 and pure in a taste for trees. It argues, 

 I think, a sweet and generous nature to 

 have this strong relish for beauties of 

 vegetation, and this friendship for the 

 hardy and glorious sons of the forest. 

 There is a grandeur of thought con- 

 nected with this part of rural economy. 

 It is worthy of liberal and freeborn 

 and aspiring men. He who plants an 

 oak looks forward to future ages, and 



plants for posterity. Nothing can be 

 less selfish than this. He cannot ex- 

 pect to sit in its shade nor enjoy its 

 shelter, but he exults in the idea that 

 the acorn which he has buried in the 

 earth shall grow up into a lofty pile 

 and shall keep on flourishing and 

 increasing and benefiting mankind 

 long after he shall have ceased to 

 tread his paternal fields. — Washington 

 Irving. 



