278 Old White Wing 
the privilege of seeing. After dark, with the help of 
a friend my support was constructed and placed in 
position, and a hole was cut through the trunk. 
Nature never seemed more beautiful than on that 
May morning, as I prepared for my first day’s study. 
A house wren was singing his morning praises from 
the old sweet apple tree, and as I passed through the 
yard a mother hen was taking her brood for their 
first little walk; in the lane which led to the woods 
the bluebirds and robins were busy with their morn- 
ing duties, and from over the meadows came the 
thum p-thum p-thum p-ru p-rup-rup-r-r-r-r-r of the ruffed 
grouse from Marble’s Grove. 
I was soon in my place of concealment in the bass- 
wood tree, and, with the aid of my glass, I could see 
the nest and its surroundings as clearly as though they 
were not more than twenty feet away. My position 
was not one of ease, for I was standing on a slat nailed 
across an upright. For five weary hours I watched 
and waited, but not a sign of Old White Wing! On 
the second day, when I was rewarded by seeing him 
make a visit to the nest, the tree could scarcely 
hold me! My legs ceased to ache, I forgot my weari- 
ness, for now I believed that I had found the home 
of Old White Wing. 
The first real thing that I saw him do was to relieve 
