VIII. 



THE BLUEJAY BABY. 



My time of triumph came, however, a little 

 later. Birds may securely hide their nests, but 

 they cannot always silence their nestlings. So 

 soon as little folk find their voices, whether their 

 dress be feathers, or furs, or French cambric, 

 they are sure to make themselves heard and 

 seen. 



One morning, two or three weeks after I had 

 given up the blue jay search, and consoled my- 

 self with looking after baby cat -birds and 

 thrushes, I started out as usual for a walk. I 

 turned naturally into a favorite path beside a 

 brook that danced down the mountain below the 

 house. It was near the bottom of a deep gully, 

 where I had come to grief in my search for a 

 veery baby. 



As I passed slowly up, looking well to my 

 steps, and listening for birds, I heard a note 

 that aroused me at once, — the squawk of a blue- 

 jay. It came from the higher ground, and I 

 looked about for a pathway up the steep bank 

 on my right. At the most promising point I 



