342 AROUND AN OLD HOMESTEAD. 



It was pitiful to see the little pair, when they came and 

 found their home ruined and desolate. At first their 

 attitude was one of alarm and even wild anxiety. They 

 fluttered from limb to limb in the trees near by, and 

 peeped and peeped in shrill, high tones of distress; but 

 when they finally realized what had happened, and 

 saw the utter loss of all their labor, their little home 

 destroyed, they flew to an elm a short distance away 

 and gave vent to the saddest, most pitiful little sounds 

 that I think I have ever heard. The beautiful little 

 feathered creatures had lost their home, and it meant 

 as much to them, doubtless, with what perceptions they 

 may have, as the loss of our homes would to us, with 

 our larger life. No longer could they come flying in 

 happiness through the leaves and peep over the nest to 

 the speckled eggs, and there was no hope now of a little 

 brood from that nest. It was certainly, for them, a 

 tragedy, and it had been caused by man, too; and per- 

 haps that has made them suspect man. And yet no 

 one would have been less likely or willing to do such a 

 thing than either of us. It simply could not have been 

 helped. Well, after a few minutes of mourning, these 

 two flew away together, and we never saw them again. 

 We were not quite certain as to the kind of birds they 

 were, but their coloring, as I recollect it, was much like 

 that of the ordinary little chippy, which, however, 

 usually builds its nest not so high from the ground. 

 My hope has always been that they built another nest, 

 and had four more speckled eggs, and finally had the 

 pleasure of bringing up four naked, scragly little young 

 ones, and I think they did. 



Speaking of birds' eggs, what a passion it is among 



