THE TRAGEDIES OF THE NESTS 81 



murderous deed was committed above the public 

 highway, but whether in the open day or under 

 cover of darkness I have no means of knowing. 

 The frisky red squirrel was doubtless the culprit. 

 The other nest was in a maple sapling, within a 

 few yards of the little rustic summer-house already 

 referred to. The first attempt of the season, I 

 suspect, had failed in a more secluded place under 

 the hill; so the pair had come up nearer the house 

 for protection. The male sang in the trees near by 

 for several days before I chanced to see the nest. 

 The very morning, I think, it was finished, I saw a 

 red squirrel exploring a tree but a few yards away; 

 he probably knew what the singing meant as well 

 as I did. I did not see the inside of the nest, for 

 it was almost instantly deserted, the female having 

 probably laid a single egg, which the squirrel had 

 devoured. 



If I were a bird, in building my nest I should 

 follow the example of the bobolink, placing it in 

 the midst of a broad meadow, where there was no 

 spear of grass, or flower, or growth unlike another 

 to mark its site. I judge that the bobolink escapes 

 the dangers to which I have adverted as few or no 

 other birds do. Unless the mowers come along at 

 an earlier date than she has anticipated, that is, 

 before July 1st, or a skunk goes nosing through 

 the grass, which is unusual, she is as safe as bird 

 well can be in the great open of nature. She 

 selects the most monotonous and uniform place she 

 can find amid the daisies or the timothy and clover, 



