A WIDOW AND TWINS. 115 
operation, in the course of which she 
scratched herself with her feet and dressed 
her feathers with her bill, all the while dart- 
ing out her long tongue with lightning-like 
rapidity, as if to moisten her beak, which 
at other times she cleansed by rubbing it 
down with her claws or by wiping it upon 
a twig. In general she paid little atten- 
tion to me, though she sometimes hovered 
directly in front of my face, as if trying to 
stare me out of countenance. One of the 
most pleasing features of the show was her 
method of flying into the nest. She ap- 
proached it, without exception, from the 
same quarter, and, after an almost imper- 
ceptible hovering motion, shut her wings 
and dropped upon the eggs. 
When the young were hatched I re- 
doubled my attentions. Now I should see 
her feed them. On the first afternoon I 
waited a long time for this purpose, the 
mother conducting herself in her customary 
manner: now here, now there, preening’ her 
plumage, driving away a meddlesome spar- 
row, probing the florets of a convenient 
clover-head (an unusual resource, I think), 
or snatching a morsel from some leaf or twig. 
