THE CRISIS CAME. 139 



tation, while gentle, complaining sounds came 

 from the invaded territory for some time. So, 

 too, in different degree the birds showed interest 

 in me, peering down between the leaves of the 

 tree in which they spent most of their time, 

 and making remarks or expressing opinions, 

 climbing — which they literally did — to the 

 end of a twig, stretching up tall to look over 

 the top and stare at me, or when flying slowly 

 past, hovering a moment just in front of me 

 with perfect fearlessness and earnest attention 

 to my pursuits. 



At length the crisis in the oriole matters 

 came, as come it must, and not long after the 

 war-dance that has been described. The season 

 was advanced and nesting time already begun. 

 In fact, it was ended in several families ; mock- 

 ing-birds were about ready to fly, young chip- 

 ping sparrows peeped from every tuft of grass, 

 baby bluebirds were trying their wings at their 

 doors, the yellow-throated warbler was stuffing 

 her youngsters on the next tree, and the late 

 kingbirds had nearly finished their nests. 

 Whether a pitched battle at last settled the 

 dispute, whether the modest little dame united 

 with her chosen mate against the common 

 enemy, or whether perchance — though this is 

 not likely — the elder bird tired of his useless 

 warfare, will never be known, for the whole 



