182 A-BIRDING ON A BRONCO. 



Ten clays later I saw her mate come with his 

 bill full of worms and lean down by the hole to 

 call her. She answered with a sweet pleading 

 twitter, and reached up to be fed. When he had 

 gone, perhaps she thought she would like a second 

 bite. At any rate, she hopped out in the door- 

 way and flew off to another tree, calling out tsche- 

 de-cle so sweetly he would surely have come back 

 to her had he been within hearing. 



A few days later I saw him feed her at the nest 

 five or six times in half an hour. He would come 

 to the next oak, light and call to her, when she 

 would answer from inside the tree trunk and he 

 would go to her. I was near enough to see her 

 pretty gray head and black eyes coming up out of 

 the crack in the oak. Sometimes when he had 

 fed her he would call out and she would answer 

 as if saying good-by from down in the nest. One 

 morning I found the devoted little mate bringing 

 her breakfast to her at half past six. 



Nearly a month later they were feeding their 

 young. The winsome mother bird, who had looked 

 so tired and nest-worn the last time I saw her, 

 was now as plump and happy as her spouse. When 

 I thought the pair were away, I went to try to 

 get sight of the nestlings down the hole. The 

 old birds appeared as soon as I set foot by the 

 oak and took upon themselves to scold me. They 

 chattered softly in a way they had never done 

 .before. They quickly got used to me again, how- 



