BABIES IN GRAY. 37 



third. Three of the beauties on a fence a little 

 way apart there was then a family ! I stood 

 and gazed. 



The backs and heads of the birds, as I could 

 then plainly see, were a little darker shade of 

 the delicate blue-gray, with the same soft, fluffy 

 look I had noticed on the breast. The wings 

 were black and somewhat elaborately marked 

 with white. The beak, that tell-tale feature 

 which reveals the secret of a bird's life, was 

 not long, but thick, and black as jet, and the 

 dark eye was set in a heavy black band across 

 the side of the head. The combination of black 

 and gray was very effective, and closer acquaint- 

 ance did not modify my first opinion of the 

 little stranger ; he was a bonny bird with clear, 

 open gaze, graceful in every movement, and 

 innocent and sweet in life I was sure, and am 

 still, in spite of 



But let me tell my story : While I was noting 

 these things I heard the cries of a bird-baby 

 behind me. The voice was strange to me, and 

 of a curiously human quality. I turned hastily, 

 and there on the telegraph pole was the baby in 

 gray, receiving his supper from one of his par- 

 ents, and crying over it, as do many feathered 

 little folk one more of the mysterious family. 



There were thus five in sight at once, and at 

 least three of them were infants lately out of 



