144 A-BIRDING ON A BRONCO. 



the nest had been five years before, and looking 

 up saw a small dull-colored bird with a bit of 

 moss in its bill walking down into a mossy cup 

 right before my eyes ! For a few moments I was 

 the happiest observer in the land. I had found 

 my little friend again, after all these years ! It 

 looked over the edge of the twig at me several 

 times, but went on gathering material as uncon- 

 cernedly as if it, too, remembered me. The mossy 

 cup seemed prettier than any rare bit of Sevres 

 china, for I looked upon it with eyes that had 

 been waiting for the sight for five j^ears. 



As the bird worked, a cottontail rabbit rustled 

 the leaves, and Billy started forward, frightening 

 the timid animal so that it scampered off over 

 the ground, showing the white underside of its 

 tail. But though Billy and the rabbit were both 

 terrified, the brave worker only flew down to a 

 twig to look at them, and turned back calmly to 

 its task. 



The nest was so protectively colored that I 

 could not see it readily, and sometimes started to 

 find that I had been looking right at it without 

 knowing it. The prospect of identifying my birds 

 was not encouraging. You might as well expect 

 to see from the first floor what was going on up 

 in a cupola as to expect to see from the ground 

 what birds are doing up in the thick oak tops. 

 You have reason to be thankful for even a glimpse 

 of a bird in the heavy foliage, and as for ' spuri- 

 ous primaries,' — " Woe worth the chase ! " 



