256 AN owu& BEAD HOLIDAY. 



there was a thrush, feeding on the ground ; or 

 an oven-bird might be seen picking his devious 

 way through the underwoods, in paths of his 

 own, and with a gait of studied and " sanctimo- 

 nious " originality. In the list of the lowly 

 must be put the winter wrens also ; one need 

 never look skyward for them. For a minute or 

 two during my first ascent of Owl's Head I 

 had lively hopes of finding one of their nests. 

 Two or three of the birds were scolding ear- 

 nestly right about my feet, as it were, and 

 their cries redoubled, or so I imagined, when I 

 approached a certain large, moss-grown stump. 

 This I looked over carefully on all sides, put- 

 ting my fingers into every possible hole and 

 crevice, till it became evident that nothing 

 was to be gained by further search. (What 

 a long chapter we could write, any of us who 

 are ornithologists, about the nests we did not 

 find!) It dawned upon me a little later that 

 I had been fooled ; that it was not the nest 

 which had been in question at all. That, wher- 

 ever it was, had been forsaken some days before ; 

 and the birds were parents and young, the for- 

 mer distracting my attention by their outcries, 

 while at the same moment they were ordering 

 the youngsters to make off as quickly as possible, 

 lest yonder hungry fiend should catch and de- 

 vour them. If wrens ever laugh, this pair must 



