54 HIGHWAYS AND BYWAYS. 



what he and his mate had so prettily hidden. The bird 

 was soon on her nest again, and I left her with sincere 

 wishes for the safety of herself and her embryo-family. 

 When not covered, the nest of the oven bird is often 

 selected by the cow bunting in which to get its own 

 little black brat incubated. The oven birds, like the 

 summer warblers, are becoming wise in this matter, and 

 many of them — not all — now roof over the nest, leav- 

 ing the opening too small for the impostors to enter. 



In getting over a fence that separated the woods 

 from a pasture lot, I was thrown to the ground by the 

 breaking of a rail. A whirr of wings and a brown 

 bird went with a complaining whistle into the deeper 

 woods. The flutter of her wings fanned my face, so 

 near were we together. It was a partridge that had 

 kept her place until I was nearly upon her, and, as I 

 expected, she had been scared from her nest by the 

 accident. At the root of a large beech by the fence 

 was the uncovered nest with sixteen beautiful, speckled 

 eggs. It was a sight to thriU with pleasure the heart 

 of one athirst for the wild in nature, and the effects of 

 the mishap were at once forgotten in the enjoyment of 

 the pretty picture. The hurried leave-taking of the 

 mistress of these treasures had scattered the leaves and 

 feathers about and over the eggs, and in sympathy for 

 her in the disturbance, I hurridly left the place that 

 she might soon return. Several times during the day I 

 had heard the drumming of the male from a thicket of 

 bushes and young saplings near by, and before leaving 

 the woods I visited the old mossy log that had been the 



