TRUben Grass Is <3reen 



ing for several days. He is a bird of faith, for 

 I have seen no mate near him; and a bird of 

 energy, for the wind gives him a deal of trouble. 

 The unfinished nest is at the end of a long 

 branch of a sycamore, fully forty feet from the 

 ground, and so slender are the supporting twigs 

 that the slightest breath of air sways them vio- 

 lently; yet with all this hindrance, for such it 

 must be, the bird is tying threads and weaving 

 strings, and at the same time, to balance him- 

 self, has to spread both wings and tail when a 

 puff of wind threatens to turn the structure inside 

 out. Once at least the bird has lost its temper. 

 In stamping down the bottom of the nest for 

 so I interpreted the movements one or more 

 long strings caught in the bird's claws, and he 

 could not shake them loose. I thought the nest 

 would be torn to pieces, and it certainly was 

 rather ragged and woebegone when finally the 

 oriole was free. How he scolded! The chirps 

 had a twang of profanity about them, and when 

 at last he darted off, it was to a cool thicket on 

 the hillside, where the provokingness of inani- 

 mate nature was probably the subject of his 

 meditations. I saw the bird no more that day, 

 but "time at last sets all things even," and the 

 next morning the damage was cheerfully repaired. 

 Suddenly the scene changed, and the black 

 clouds gathering overhead made even the open 

 .country dark ; but it is no great misfortune to be 

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