NEST-HUNTING. 105 
bird fly into a clump of blackberry bushes one day, 
I took it for a female indigo-bird. A nest was soon 
found woven very neatly and compactly, and having 
not only grass-fibres wrought into its structure, but 
also wool and thistle-edown. A queer indigo-bird’s 
nest, I mused. The wool in the cup was ruffled 
and loose, and taking it for a deserted homestead, I 
carelessly thrust my hand intoit. The next moment 
I was sorry for the thoughtless act, for the material 
looked so fresh that I decided it must be an unfin- 
ished bird-cradle. I resolved to discover the own- 
ers, lf possible. ‘Two days later it was in the same 
condition. Had I driven away the little builders 
by laying defiling hands on the nest? I felt like a 
culprit, and waited a week before again venturing to 
visit the place, when, as I approached, a female gold- 
finch flew from the nest, uncovering five dainty 
white eggs, set like pearls in the bottom of the cup. 
A goldfinch’s nest in a blackberry bush! ‘That was 
a climax of surprises, in very truth. 
On the same day, not far distant, another bush- 
sparrow’s nest was found in some bushes, placed 
about three feet from the ground. In a few weeks 
there were babies five in the goldfinch’s nest, and 
four in that of the bush-sparrow. Pray keep both 
nests in mind, remembering that the youngsters of 
both families were hatched on the same day. One 
evening at twilight I again stepped out to the clover- 
field. The mother goldfinch was sitting close on her 
nest cand dics not stir as) I) came near: “Lhenr 
touched her lightly with my cane. Still she remained 
