NEST-HUNTING. 107 
pore, but I felt amply repaid for my vigil. During 
the first half-hour the parent birds ventured slyly to 
feed their bantlings twice. Then I crept closer, 
and waited an hour; but the parent birds were too 
shy to bring their hungry nestlings a single mouth- 
ful of food, choosing, it would seem, to let them suf- 
fer hunger rather than take risk themselves. The 
little things were almost famished, and behaved very 
quaintly. Every rustle of the leaves in the wind 
caused them to start up, crane out their necks, pry 
open their mouths as wide as they could, waddle 
awkwardly from side to side, and chirp for some- 
thing to eat. How famished they were! ‘They 
even seized one another’s heads and tried to gulp 
one another down. ‘The spectacle was just a little 
uncanny. 
But, dear me! they were not as ignorant of the 
ways of the world as you might suppose. When I 
lightly tapped the stems of the bushes with my cane, 
instead of leaping up and opening their mouths as 
they were expected to do, they shrank down into 
the bottom of the nest, discerning at once the dif- 
ference between those strokes on the bush and their 
parents’ quiet approach or loving call. Something 
must have put them on their guard, and instilled 
feelings of fear into their palpitating bosoms. Per- 
haps it was that shy personage, the mother herself ; 
for she would call admonishingly at intervals from 
the woods, Ba-die!/ ba-dbie/ putting a pathetic 
accent on the second syllable. It was droll to see 
