266 LAND BIRDS 
of a Water Ouzel. But to find one in the middle of a 
pine-fringed mountain stream, where it seemed to be- 
long just to the bird and me, — ah, that was a different 
matter. 
It was located on a smooth granite boulder that rose 
from the white foam of the American River in the Sierra 
Nevada. Resting half on the rock and half in the 
stream was a fallen tree trunk, and under the shelter 
of this on the slippery rock the Ouzel had woven his 
little moss nest, kept fresh and green by the spray that 
dashed over it. As the mother approached the nest, 
she paused just a breath on a projecting point of the 
old trunk, and I distinctly saw that she carried the 
larva of some water insect in her beak. The babies in 
the nest knew it also, and the small doorway, where a 
dainty fern nodded its green plumes, instantly blossomed 
with four little heads. Four hungry mouths opened 
wide to receive the morsel. How would she apportion 
it among somany? After a moment of indecision, she 
tucked it deftly into one of the four gaping yellow bills ; 
then, as if afraid of a wail of protest from those still 
unfilled, she darted hastily into the water and was lost 
to view. In exactly three minutes she appeared on the 
tree trunk again with another of the queer-looking larvee, 
and again the four nestlings stretched hungry little beaks 
to be filled. This time she was joined by the male, who, 
though he came last, managed to deliver his load first, 
and perching on a smaller stone near by, where the spray 
dashed over him as he sang, he poured out his joy in 
sweetest music. How I longed to have the river keep 
