THE TRAGEDIES OF THE NESTS. 85 



My dog disturbed the sitting bird as I was passing 

 near. The nest could be seen only by lifting up and 

 parting away the branches. All the arts of conceal- 

 ment had been carefully studied. It was the last 

 place you would think of looking, and, if you did 

 look, nothing was visible but the dense green circle 

 of the low-spreading juniper. When you approached, 

 the bird would keep her place till you had begun to 

 stir the branches, when she would start out, and, just 

 skimming the ground, make a bright brown line to 

 the near fence and bushes. I confidently expected 

 that this nest would escape molestation, but it did 

 not. Its discovery by myself and dog probably opened 

 the door for ill luck, as one day, not long afterward, 

 when I peeped in upon it, it was empty. The proud 

 song of the male had ceased from his accustomed 

 tree, and the pair were seen no more in that vicinity. 

 The phcebe-bird is a wise architect, and perhaps 

 enjoys as great an immunity from danger, both in its 

 person and its nest, as any other bird. Its modest, 

 ashen-gray suit is the color of the rocks where it 

 builds, and the moss of which it makes such free use 

 gives to its nest the look of a natural growth or ac- 

 cretion. But when it comes into the barn or under 

 the shed to build, as it so frequently does, the moss 

 is rather out of place. Doubtless in time the bird 

 will take the hint, and when she builds in such places 

 will leave the moss out. I noted but two nests the 

 summer I am speaking of : one in a barn failed of 

 issue, on account of the rats, I suspect, though the 



