IN THE SHADE OF THE OAKS. 167 



rabbits often went ambling over the soft turf. 

 On one side of the opening was a low stocky oak, 

 full of balls of mistletoe, and on the other a great 

 blossoming bush buzzing with hummingbirds. 

 The mistletoe had begun to sap the little oak, and 

 on one of its dead twigs a hummingbird had taken 

 to perching. I wondered if he were the idle mate 

 of one of my small garden builders, but he sat 

 and sunned himself as if his conscience were quite 

 clear. 



My first experience with gnatcatchers had been 

 here. I suspected a nest, and the ranchman's 

 daughter went with me to hunt through the brush. 

 She cautioned me to look out for rattlesnakes, 

 but the brush was so dense and the ground so 

 covered with crooked snake-like sticks that it 

 was not an easy matter to tell what you were 

 stepping on. Then, the poison oak was so thick 

 that I felt like holding up my hands to avoid it. 

 We pushed our way through the dense chaparral, 

 and my fearless companion got down on her hands 

 and knees to look through the tangle for the nest. 

 It was hard disagreeable work, even if one did 

 not object to snakes, and we were soon so tired 

 that we were ready to sit down and let the birds 

 show us to their house. We might have saved 

 ourselves all the trouble if we had done this to 

 begin with, for it was only a few moments before 

 the little pair went to the mistletoe oak, out in 

 plain sight and within easy reach — how they 



