60 



TWENTIETH CENTURY CLASSICS 



that one feels would lose its greatest charm if exposed to 

 cheerful light and commonplace surroundings. . . . 



" Among the other Voices, I shortly detected the sweet, 

 wild song of the Brown Creeper, and, looking more care- 

 fully, spied L pair of these industrious little gleaners wind- 

 ing their way up the trunk of a neighboring tree. Al- 

 though I watched them closely, the female soon after, in 

 some way, eluded my sight, and mysteriously disappeared, 

 but the male remained in the immediate vicinity, singing 

 at frequent intervals. Being convinced that they must 

 have a nest somewhere near, I instituted a careful search 

 among the dead trees that stood around, and at length 

 detected a scale of loose bark, within which was crammed 

 a suspicious-looking mass of twigs and other rubbish. A 

 vigorous rapping upon the base of the trunk producing no 

 effect, I climbed to the spot, and was about to tear off the 

 bark when the frightened Creeper darted out within a 

 few inches of my face, and the next moment I looked in 

 upon the eggs. 



" The tree selected was a tall dead fir, that stood in the 

 shallow water just outside the edge of the living forest, 

 but surrounded by numbers of its equally unfortunate 

 companions. Originally killed by inundation, its branches 

 had long ago yielded to the fury of the winter storms, 

 and the various destroying agents of time had stripped off 

 the greater part of the bark, until only a few persistent 

 scales remained to chequer the otherwise smooth, mast-like 

 stem. One of these, in process of detachment, had started 

 away from the trunk below, while its upper edges still re- 

 tained a comparatively firm hold, and within the space 

 thus formed the cunning little architect had constructed 



