30 BIRDS THROUGH AN OPERA-GLASS. 
ing the brownish white, deeply speckled eggs and 
noting the details of the nest. But the best way 
is to keep perfectly still and let the birds show 
me just where the nest is, though of course it 1s 
only a matter of a few minutes more or less. I sit 
down in the grass, pull the timothy stems over my 
dress, make myself look as much as possible lke 
a meadow, and keep one eye on the bobolinks, 
while appearing to be absorbed with an object on 
the other side. But they are better actors than I. 
Twitteritter-itter the anxious mother reiterates 
ina high key as she hovers suggestively over a 
tuft of grass a few rods away. So soon! My 
impatience can hardly be restrained. But—the 
father is coming. 
Lingkum -lingkum-lingkum, he  vociterates 
loudly, hovering over a bunch of weeds in just 
the opposite direction. By this time the mother | 
is atilt of another timothy stem in a new place, 
looking as if just ready to fly down to her nest. 
And so they keep it up. IJ examine all the weeds 
and tussocks of grass they point out. On nearing 
one of them, the mother fies about my head with 
a show of the greatest alarm; my- hopes reach 
certainty — there is nothing there! I look under 
every nodding buttercup and spreading daisy for 
yards around only to see Mrs. Robert of Lincoln 
hovering above a spot she had avoided before. 
The next day I offer a reward to two children if 
they will find the nest, but the birds probably 
