The Birds and Poets 97 



"And still, along the reaches of the stream, 

 The vain Kingfisher flits, an azure gleam, 

 You see his ruby crest, you hear his 

 jealous scream." 



In my boyhood days I doubt not I would have 

 dug into the hole for the purpose of making sure of 

 its contents, but the scientific exigency must be 

 strong and compelling indeed which would now 

 induce me to disturb a bird's nest, its eggs or 

 young. I confess to a good deal of eager curiosity, 

 however, as to the interior of that hole in the bank. 



On the opposite side of the stream was a wide, 

 sandy point jutting into the water, dotted here and 

 there with tufts of grass and clumps of daisies. I 

 was not expecting any signs of birds at this point, 

 and was still somewhat under the spell of the king- 

 fisher, when a sparrow sprang up apparently some 

 ten feet in advance of me, which I thought at first 

 glance was a vesper sparrow, because of its con- 

 spicuous white tail feathers. Still I did not suspect 

 there was a nest, because of the unpromising char- 

 acter of the ground, altho' the bird when flushed 

 acted as if she had just left her nest. I stopped and 

 looked at the bird with my field glass, but it got 

 beyond the range of my glass before I had time to 

 examine it carefully. I glanced down at a small 

 tuft of grass at my feet, and there between two 

 daisy stems was the bird's nest containing three 

 white eggs, scrawled with dark spots. I was now 

 convinced that it was not the vesper sparrow, 



