68 MATESHIP WITH BIRDS 



the product of the owner of the nest, it is accepted, 

 in about seven cases out of ten, with a fatalistic re- 

 signation, or, rather, a blind trustfulness. What 

 sense of divination is it, then, that persuades birds 

 in the remaining three cases (not necessarily of a 

 particular species) to either throw out the intrud- 

 ing egg or bury it in a corner of the nest? 



There is no instance on record, as far as I am 

 aware, of a young Cuckoo being thrown out or 

 utterly neglected by its foster-parents. They may 

 be puzzled at the enormous mouth and insatiable 

 appetite of this freak progeny, but the parental in- 

 stinct is sufficiently strong to keep them tending it 

 with a faithful persistence that leaves both birds 

 in a half-starved condition. There are even cases 

 in which neighbors lend their aid. Glancing over 

 the records of many Novembers, I find an instance 

 in which a young Fantailed Cuckoo, well able to 

 fend for itself, was being fed by two White-fronted 

 Bush-Chats, while two others did their dainty best 

 to draw me away by feigning to be wounded. All 

 misguided devotion, sure enough, but scarcely more 

 so than that enjoyed by many human idlers, from 

 well before the day of the original prodigal son up 

 to the present enlightened age. 



And so, with many a wanton wile, scarcely sub- 

 dued by an undercurrent of melancholy born of sea- 

 sonal culmination and the mystery of life and death, 

 November speeds on her busy way to link the hands 

 of Spring and Summer. Then arises that essen- 

 tially human plaint, "I wish it were always 

 Spring!" It is not a new cry; old writers have 



