NEST-HUNTING. 103 
proclaiming a secret that she could not keep. 
There on the grass, sure enough, was her nestful of 
little ones. Some accident must have befallen the 
fibrous cot, for the weeds and clover were broken 
down and trampled flat all around it, so that it sat 
loosely on the ground, without even a blade of grass 
to shelter it. Fearing that buccaneers in the shape 
of jays or hawks might rob the nest, I broke off a 
number of weeds and made a sort of thatched roof 
over it; that would also protect the panting infants 
from the sun, which was beating down like a furnace. 
Then I took my stand a few rods away, to see what 
the old birds would do. Erelong both the papa 
and mamma came with billsome morsels in their 
mouths, and, after fluttering about uneasily for a 
few minutes, darted down to the nest and fed their 
young. Of course, they first had to peep, and peer, 
and cant their dainty heads this way and that, to 
examine the roof I had improvised for the nest, 
wondering, no doubt, what kind of a bungling archi- 
tect had been at work there; but finally they 
seemed to think all was well. Perhaps in their 
hearts they thanked me for my thoughtful care. 
A day or two later I called again, even at the risk 
of coming de trop. The weeds arched over the 
bird crib at my former visit having withered, I made 
them another green roof, sheltering them as cosily 
as I could and leaving a small opening at the side 
for an entrance. After an absence of a few minutes 
I crept surreptitiously back to the enchanted spot, — 
for it drew me like a loadstone, 
and there sat the 
