A MINSTREL OF THE MARSHES 
so uncertain at that spot as to make picture- 
taking extremely difficult; and the Man 
with the Camera, being also a man with 
patience, made many attempts before he was 
finally successful. The little ones were very 
active handsome babies, fully feathered in 
soft shades of brown, and looked much like 
the young brown thrashers. The bills, how- 
ever, were black, and the inside of the throat 
a soft rose pink, quite unlike the brilliant 
salmon of the red-winged blackbird nest- 
lings; nor were their heads bare, as we 
expected. They were nearly ready to fly, 
and insisted on raising themselves up onto 
the edge of the nest and tumbling about in 
baby helplessness. In so doing one of them 
caught his claws in the skin of the head of 
his brother, and then ensued the first crying 
we had heard from these model children. 
The father meanwhile was circling over our 
heads, exhibiting curiosity rather than dis- 
tress. He would alight every now and then 
near the mother, and sing a word or two of 
reassuring comfort to her. She was more 
55 
