THE FAMILIAR BIRDS 



In the woods beyond the chat's nest one of my 

 boy friends conducted me to a nest on the ground 

 beside the path, which he had recently found. He 

 did not know the bird's name, but from his descrip- 

 tion, and especially from his statement that the 

 bird walked, I was sure he had found the nest of an 

 oven-bird, or the wood accentor. And when I saw it 

 tucked under the dry grass and leaves so that they 

 made a canopy over it, the half-fledged young 

 barely visible in the dim recess, I was as pleased as 

 if I were seeing the oven-bird's nest for the first 

 time. In a moment the mother bird appeared, not 

 blustering about with distressed cries, but silently 

 dragging herself over the ground with spread wings 

 and tail and an utterly decrepit and despairing 

 look. I have rarely seen a mother bird present so 

 pitiful a sight. It was a silent pantomime that was 

 more eloquent than cries. Round and round she 

 went, appearing and disappearing, only a few feet 

 from us, now on this side, now on that, and be- 

 seeching and abjuring us to content ourselves with 

 coming and picking her up and leaving her precious 

 young alone. Never did a mother offer to sacrifice 

 herself for her offspring more freely than did this 

 little brown-backed, speckle-breasted bird. Her 

 silent agony soon had its effect on us and we 

 withdrew. A few days more and her young will find 

 their wings. 



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