A NESTFUL OF WOODEN BABIES. 179 



of) was the 22d of July, and the weather was 

 intensely warm. On the 21st we had watched all 

 day to see them go, sure that they were per- 

 fectly well able. Obviously it is the policy of 

 this family to prepare for a life of extraordi- 

 nary activity by an infancy of unusual stillness. 

 Never were youngsters so perfectly indifferent 

 to all the world. In storm or sunshine, in day- 

 light or darkness, they lay there motionless, 

 caring only for food, and even that showed 

 itself only by the fact that all mouths were 

 toward the front. The under one of the pile 

 seemed entirely contented to be at the bottom, 

 and the top ones not to exult in their posi- 

 tion ; in fact, so far as any show of interest 

 in life was concerned, they might have been 

 a nestful of wooden babies. 



On this morning, as we dragged ourselves 

 wearily over the hot road to the ravine, we 

 resolved that no handful of wrenlings should 

 force us over that road again. Go off this day 

 they should, if as my comrade remarked 

 " we had to raise them by hand." My first 

 call was at the nest, indifferent whether parents 

 were there or not, for I had become desperate. 

 There they lay, lazily blinking at me, and fill- 

 ing the nest overfull. The singer came rushing 

 down a branch, bristled up, blustering, and 

 calling " Dear-r-r-r ! " at me, and I hoped he 



