44 A bout the Feathered Folk. 



a heap of forest litter swept into a 

 corner by the breeze. 



Inside it is lined with finest feathers 

 and hair and tiny grasses ; and here 

 the little round palely-spotted eggs 

 are laid, and Jenny broods above 

 them, her mate feeding her mean- 

 while, and singing to keep her 

 courage up, until the proud day 

 when the nestlings are hatched. 

 Then there is no more time for 

 sitting still, or for singing, since the 

 clamorous family have to be fed. 



And so the bright days pass, with 

 much bustle and flitting of brown 

 wings ; r.nd the young cnes grow 

 apace; and soon the songs begin 

 again, short little cadences of joy- 

 ousness, which serve as lessons foi 

 the youngsters now. 



In winter the fledglings and 

 parents cuddle together for shelter 

 under an outhouse roof. I have 

 seen them, watched them, dancing 

 about the rafters of a cow-house, 



