BABIES IN GRAY. 37 



third. Three of the beauties on a fence a little 

 way apart — there was then a family ! I stood 

 and gazed. 



The backs and heads of the birds, as I could 

 then plainly see, were a little darker shade of 

 the delicate blue-gray, with the same soft, fluffy 

 look I had noticed on the breast. The wings 

 were black and somewhat elaborately marked 

 with white. The beak, that tell-tale feature 

 which reveals the secret of a bird's life, was 

 not long, but thick, and black as jet, and the 

 dark eye was set in a heavy black band across 

 the side of the head. The combination of black 

 and gray was very effective, and closer acquaint- 

 ance did not modify my first opinion of the 

 little stranger ; he was a bonny bird with clear, 

 open gaze, graceful in every movement, and 

 innocent and sweet in life I was sure, and am 

 still, in spite of — 



But let me tell my story : While I was noting 

 these things I heard the cries of a bird-baby 

 behind me. The voice was strange to me, and 

 of a curiously human quality. I turned hastily, 

 and there on the telegraph pole was the baby in 

 gray, receiving his supper from one of his par- 

 ents, and crying over it, as do many feathered 

 little folk — one more of the mysterious family. 



There were thus five in sight at once, and at 

 least three of them were infants lately out of 



