12 MY GARDEN ACQUAINTANCE. 



nearly to an end, and had already begun to line it with 

 fern-down, the gathering of which demanded more dis- 

 tant journeys and longer absences. But, alas ! the 

 syringa, immemorial manor of the catbirds, was not 

 more than twenty feet away, and these " giddy neigh- 

 bors " had, as it appeared, been all along jealously watch- 

 ful, though silent, witnesses of what they deemed an 

 intrusion of squatters. No sooner were the pretty 

 mates fairly gone for a new load of lining, than 



" To their unguarded nest these weasel Scots 

 Came stealing." 



Silently they flew back and forth, each giving a vengeful 

 dab at the nest in passing. They did not fall-to and 

 deliberately destroy it, for they might have been caught 

 at their mischief. As it was, whenever the yellow- 

 birds came back, their enemies were hidden in their own 

 sight-proof bush. Several times their unconscious vic- 

 tims repaired damages, but at length, after counsel taken 

 together, they gave it up. Perhaps, like other unlet- 

 tered folk, they came to the conclusion that the Devil 

 was in it, and yielded to the invisible persecutions of 

 witchcraft. 



The robins, by constant attacks and annoyances, have 

 succeeded in driving off the blue-jays who used to build 

 in our pines, their gay colors and quaint noisy ways 

 making them welcome and amusing neighbors. I once 

 had the chance of doing a kindness to a household of 

 them, which they received with very friendly condescen- 

 sion. I had had my eye for some time upon a nest, and 

 was puzzled by a constant fluttering of what seemed 

 full-grown wings in it whenever I drew nigh. At last I 

 climbed the tree, in spite of angry protests from the 

 old birds against my intrusion. The mystery had a 

 very simple solution. In building the nest, a long piece 

 cf packthread had been somewhat loosely woven in. 



