150 THE BOBOLINK'S NEST. 



taken possession of it, and it was made still 

 richer by the sweet minor strains of the ^lark, 

 and the song of the bird who, 



"like the soul 

 Of the sweet season vocal in a bird, 

 Gurgles in ecstasy we know not what." 



The evening after our humiliation — which 

 we lost sight of in our joy — we returned to the 

 charmed spot, parted again the sweet grass cur- 

 tains and gazed down at the baby bobolinks, 

 while the parents perched on two trees as before 

 and paid not the smallest attention to us. 



We passed on down the road to the gate where 

 we could look into a neighboring pasture and 

 watch for a pair of red - headed woodpeckers 

 who lived in that pleasant place, and catch the 

 reflection of the sunset in the northern sky. 

 While we lingered there, I looked with my glass 

 back at the bobolinks, and chanced to see Bobby 

 himself in the act of diving into the grass. 

 When he came out he seemed to notice me, and 

 instantly began trying to mislead me. 



He came up boldly, flew to another spot where 

 a weed lifted its head above the green, and 

 dropped into the grass exactly as though he was 

 going to the nest ; then he rose again, repeated 

 his tactics, pausing every time he came out and 

 calling, as if to say, " This is my home ; if you 're 

 looking for a nest, here it is ! " His air was so 



