76 SIGNS AND SEASONS 



approached and timidly and half doubtingly covered 

 her eggs within two yards of where I sat. I dis- 

 turbed her several times, to note her ways. There 

 came to be something almost appealing in her looks 

 and manner, and she would keep her place on her 

 precious eggs till my outstretched hand was within 

 a few feet of her. Finally, I covered the cavity of 

 the nest with a dry leaf. This she did not remove 

 with her beak, but thrust her head deftly beneath 

 it and shook it off upon the ground. Many of her 

 sympathizing neighbors, attracted by her alarm note, 

 came and had a peep at the intruder, and then flew 

 away, but the male bird did not appear upon the 

 scene. The final history of this nest I am unable 

 to give, as I did not again visit it till late in the 

 season, when, of course, it was empty. 



Years pass without my finding a brown thrasher's 

 nest; it is not a nest you are likely to stumble 

 upon in your walk; it is hidden as a miser hides 

 his gold, and watched as jealously. The male pours 

 out his rich and triumphant song from the tallest 

 tree he can find, and fairly challenges you to come 

 and look for his treasures in his vicinity. But you 

 will not find them if you go. The nest is some- 

 where on the outer circle of his song; he is never 

 so imprudent as to take up his stand very near it. 

 The artists who draw those cozy little pictures of 

 a brooding mother bird, with the male perched but 

 a yard away in full song, do not copy from nature. 

 The thrasher's nest I found was thirty or forty rods 

 from the point where the male was wont to indulge 



