MONSIEUR MISCHIEF 
more than a foot or two, — and these were 
usually successful; but when longer ones 
were attempted, the result was quite often 
an ignominious tumble to the ground. 
They soon learned to scold as the parents 
did, and to try funny little musical chuckles 
and gurgling notes, which reminded me of a 
rooster’s first crow. One learned to sing 
quite a bit when six weeks old. Two of 
them remained in the immediate vicinity of 
their babyhood’s home with the mother 
until they were nine weeks old and had 
nearly finished moulting. At this time, 
August 29th, the earth was parched with 
drouth, and the little creek had become 
a clay-baked path through the wood. In 
pity, as well as curiosity, I put a small glass 
dish filled with water in the catbirds’ nook. 
As soon as I had hidden, down they came 
for a bath. The older had grown quite a 
respectable tail, and his pride in it was 
ludicrous. Catching sight of it as it jerked 
excitedly up and down, he regarded it with 
the wide-eyed amazement of a human baby 
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