Oven-bird 5 1 



except the bird student. He is more often heard than seen, 

 and when one has learned to recognize his ringing, up-and-down 

 notes he will be recognized in about every thicket or wood one 

 penetrates. He also has a very beautiful song, but few 

 people have heard it. 



Oven-bird figured in one of my earliest and most startling 

 ornithological experiences. I was a small boy then, and, 

 attracted and even alarmed by the frantic cries and up-standing 

 feathers of two of the birds, which greeted me as I passed 

 through a quiet wood, I began a search for the nest. I 

 supposed that it was my presence that had disturbed the parent 

 birds, therefore when I discovered the domed structure I 

 plunged my hand into the side entrance with boy-like 

 curiosity, with the object of discovering what treasures the nest 

 contained. I found out all too soon. My fingers came in 

 contact with the cold, slimy folds of a snake. 



I jumped probably about a rod. The frenzy of the birds 

 was redoubled. They followed me, screaming and crying. 

 There was a pathetic note of appeal in their voices. Yes, I 

 understood, now. They were begging, imploring me to save 

 their offspring. My fancy, you say? Not at all. Those 

 birds begged me as clearly as human beings could have done 

 to come to their relief. Having quickly got over my fright 

 I approached and with a stout stick pried the horrid reptile 

 out of the nest. He had one baby bird in his jaws and a 

 lump in his middle which told the tale of the fate of another. 

 One blow of my stick paralyzed His Snakeship and caused 

 him to drop the bird from his mouth. It was not badly 

 injured and was able to run back into the nest, where I found 

 three other fledglings resting comfortably and unaware of the 



