THE PALACE IN THE PIG-PEN 51 



for nearly three weeks, his house-lot chosen, his mind 

 at rest, his heart beating faster with every sunrise. 

 It was as plain as day that he knew was certain 

 just how and just when something lovely was going 

 to happen. I wished I knew. I was half in love with 

 her myself; and I, too, watched for her. 



On the evening of April 14th, he was alone as usual. 

 The next morning a pair of phoebes flitted in and 

 out of the windows of the pen. Here she was. Will 

 some one tell me all about it ? Had she just come 

 along and fallen instantly in love with him and his fine 

 pig-pen? It is pretty evident that he nested here 

 last year. Was she, then, his old mate? Did they 

 keep together all through the autumn and winter? 

 If so, then why not together all the way back from 

 Florida to Massachusetts? 



Here is a pretty story. But who will tell it to 

 me? 



For several days after she came, the weather con- 

 tinued raw and wet, so that nest-building was greatly 

 delayed. The scar of an old, last year's nest still 

 showed on a stringer, and I wondered if they had 

 decided on this or some other site for the new nest. 

 They had not made up their minds, for when they 

 did start it was to make three beginnings in as many 

 places. 



Then I offered a suggestion. Out of a bit of stick, 

 branching at right angles, I made a little bracket 

 and tacked it up on one of the stringers. It ap- 



