IN THE WHITE MOUNTAINS. 91 
bird to appear as before; but she had gath- 
ered courage from my former failure, —or so 
it seemed, —and I waited in vain till I rapped 
upon the ground over her head. Then she scram- 
bled out and limped away, repeating her inno- 
cent but hackneyed ruse. This time I was re- 
solved not to be baffled. The nest was there, 
and I would find it. So down on my knees I 
got, and scrutinized the whole place most care- 
fully. But though I had marked the precise 
spot, there was no sign of a nest. I was about 
giving over the search ignominiously, when I de- 
scried a slight opening between the overhang- 
ing roof of the bank and a layer of earth which 
some roots held in place close under it. Into 
this slit I inserted my fingers, and there, en- 
tirely out of sight, was the nest full of eggs. No 
man could ever have found it, had the bird been 
brave and wise enough to keep her seat. How- 
ever, I had before this noticed that the snow- 
bird, while often extremely clever in choosing 
a building site, is seldom very skillful in keeping 
a secret. I saw him one day standing on the 
side of the same Mount Willard road,’ gesticu- 
1 Beside this road (in June, 1883) I found a nest of the yellow- 
bellied flycatcher (Empidonax flaviventris). It was built at the 
base of a decayed stump, in a little depression between two roots, 
and was partially overarched with growing moss. It contained 
four eggs, — white, spotted with brown. I called upon the bird 
half a dozen times or more, and found her a model “‘ keeper at 
