288 ANNUAL REPORT SMITHSONIAN INSTITUTION, 1946 
nest.) But after standing quietly beside me for a time, it suddenly 
took to the air and flew about 25 feet in a horizontal course, coming 
to rest upon another fallen log. The father, who had been watching 
us from the poro tree in front of the nest, began to follow as soon as 
it began to move and darted down to alight close beside it on the log. 
After a minute here, he moved to a low perch a little beyond. Then I 
approached to recover the nestling, which made no effort to escape me. 
After completing the description of its plumage, I took up the 
young quetzal to return it to the nest. I found the other in the door- 
way, looking out. As I mounted the ladder toward it, the bird flew 
forth and down the slope in front of the nest. On this its first flight 
it covered about 150 feet in a slightly descending course, and came to 
rest about 25 feet above the ground in a small yos tree. It flew well 
but slowly. The father, who meanwhile had returned to the poro tree 
in front of the nest, darted after the fledgling and followed it closely 
on its first aerial journey, in the manner of parent birds of many kinds. 
For an hour, the young quetzal rested quietly on the branch where it 
had first alighted; and here the father brought it food. While perch- 
ing near it, he called many times in a clear but subdued voice, no louder 
than that of the Jalapa trogon. Meanwhile, the other fledgling, which 
I had left inside, had climbed up to stand in the doorway of the 
nest, looking forth. At 11 o’clock, I left them in these positions. 
When I returned at a quarter to 2 in the afternoon, I found that 
the second fledgling had departed and was resting in the poro tree 
in front, where it repeated over and over a beautiful, low, soft whistle. 
The other, which had flown first, had moved farther down the slope 
and perched high up in a tree at the edge of the woods. Here the 
father brought it food and rested close by it when not away foraging. 
Although this fledgling was given as much as it could eat, the other 
called and called in vain for attention. Yet its soft whistles carried 
faintly to the edge of the woods where its father perched. I watched 
all afternoon; it lingered in the poré tree, and the parent did not come 
near it. 
At 5 o’clock, despairing of attracting attention where it had so 
long perched, the second fiedgling suddenly took wing and flew down 
the slope in the direction where it had last seen or heard its parent. 
It came to rest in a small tree and continued to call tirelessly. It now 
began to vary its whistles, uttering some which were longer and 
slightly sharper than I had previously heard and others that sounded 
very pleading and mournful. Still no food was brought to appease its 
hunger. 
At a quarter past 5, the neglected fledgling continued down the 
slope to the edge of the woods, where it came to rest upon a branch of 
a cecropia tree covered over with a dense tapestry of climbing bamboo. 
