In Winter Fields 53 



which proved the Spanish proverb, "There are no birds in 

 last year's nests"? I made a cautious step or two, and the 

 mystery was explained. A piercing little black eye, with a 

 world of fright in its narrow compass, was peering at me from 

 above the edge of the nest. Then there was more rustling, 

 and I caught a glimpse of something as it flashed down the 

 stem of the hazel-bush. Then there was disappearance and 

 quiet. It was a mouse, of course. He had taken possession 

 of the catbird's summer home for a winter residence. There 

 was too strong a temptation to resist to pry into the house- 

 keeping of Master Mouse. He had "bulged up" the inner 

 bark lining of the structure a little, and beneath this he 

 placed his store of provender, which consisted of corn and 

 hazelnuts. There was no corn-field within fifty rods, and this 

 diminutive four-footed "beastie" must have made many a 

 weary journey for his corn supply. The hazelnuts were close 

 at hand and in abundance. 



It is hard work to get away from a jay. Even though he 

 be at a distance, his voice is a constant reminder that he is on 

 earth. I have said that the jay is essentially a thief — now for 

 proof positive. A pair of these steel-blue coated creatures 

 had been watching my operations on the catbird's nest with 

 apparent interest, though I had given them little attention, 

 because of the greater matter in hand. I had walked away 

 from the thorn-bush to a distance of about fifty yards, when a 

 jay call that had something of jubilation in it, caused me to 

 turn. The two birds were engaged in rifling the mouse's 

 larder. I was conscience-stricken at being the cause of the 

 loss of food, so I drove the birds away. I found that they 

 had secured already a large share of the supply, and I have 

 little doubt that they returned later to complete the robbery. 



