A WOOD THRUSH 
bird was two days old, expecting to continue 
our observations later on, but every one of 
them fell a victim to a crow, and the little 
adobe house was left empty. 
Two weeks later this same pair of thrushes 
built in a low crotch of a sapling about four 
feet from the ground.’ The nest was not 
shielded in any way. No leaves hung over 
it, no vines covered it. It was a target for 
the gaze of all passers-by. Yet there the 
fearless mother sat day after day, looking 
out with calm eyes that seemed to read our 
love and to trust to our protection. She 
allowed the Man with the Camera to come 
within two feet of her, but when he attempted 
to set up that black box on three shiny legs, 
it was too much for even her quiet spirit. 
Away she flew, and refused to return so long 
as the camera remained in sight. Knowing 
her misfortune with the first brood, we hes- 
itated about bothering her while rearing this 
one. The four blue eggs hatched, one each 
day, until four pink babies filled the little 
nest. After this, no mother ever led a 
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