THE ADOPTED INFANT. 231 



and lowering his tail, and all the time uttering 

 a husky two-note baby-cry. While I was strug- 

 gling to keep him in the field of my glass long 

 enough to note his points, he went to the dead 

 tree, when the philosophical phoebe sitting there 

 took his case in hand, and made a dash for him. 

 The stranger flew straight over the house, with 

 his assailant in close chase. But in a moment I 

 heard the baby-cry in a maple beside the cottage, 

 while the phcebe calmly returned to his post and 

 gave his mind again to his flycatching. The 

 young bird was not in range from the window, 

 but when, a few seconds later, I heard the feed- 

 ing-cry, I could no longer resist the desire to see 

 him. 



I forgot my caution, and rushed out of the 

 house, for I suspected that this uneasy visitor 

 was the chestnut-sided 's adopted charge. So I 

 found it. There stood the infant, big and 

 clumsy by comparison, calling, calling, forever 

 calling; and stretching up on tiptoe, as it were, 

 to reach him was the poor little warbler, trying 

 to stop his mouth by stuffing him. The foster- 

 parent lingered as if he were weary, and his 

 plumage looked as if he had not dressed it for a 

 week. But the insatiate beggar gave him no 

 peace; with the swallowing of the last morsel 

 began his cry for more. Again, standing within 

 ten feet of him, I noticed the young bird's 



