A BROWN THRASHER 
perch, and no baby looks well lying flat 
on its face. 
I wondered that the thrashers had not 
driven them away, but apparently the great- 
est harmony reigned between them, and the 
two families were reared together, one in the 
sky parlor and the other on the ground 
floor. 
The little hair-birds, however, fell victims 
to some bird of prey as soon as they left the 
nest, and for days the desolate father and 
mother haunted the thorn-bush alone. Thus 
ended another of the many tragedies in 
birdland. 
237 
