XVII. 



WHICH WAS THE MOTHER BIRD? 



The second time I went to California the little 

 whitewashed adobe opposite my ranch was still 

 standing, but an acacia-tree had grown over the 

 well where the black phoebe had nested, and the 

 shaft was so overrun with bushes and vines that 

 it was hard to find a trace of it. Drawn by 

 pleasant memories, I rode in one morning, sure 

 of finding something interesting about the old 

 place. 



I had not waited long before the chip of a 

 young bird came from the vines over the well. 

 It proved a callow nestling, with no tail, and little 

 to mark its parentage. Presently a brown long- 

 tailed wren-tit came with food in its bill and 

 peered down through the leaves at it; and then 

 a California towhee came and sat around till sat- 

 isfied as to whose child was crying. A moment 

 later a lazuli bunting flew over with food in her 



