50 A THORN-TREE NEST. 



ing oriole papa, with a peremptory youngster in 

 tow, now and then appeared in the pasture ; and 

 swallows, both barn and eave, came in merry, 

 chattering flocks from their homes at the edge 

 of the village. 



About the middle of the long stretch of road 

 was a solitary maple-tree, and about thirty feet 

 from it, and just within the pasture fence, the 

 thorn, and the nest of my hopes. Approaching 

 quietly on that first morning, I unfolded my 

 camp-chair and sat down in the shade of the 

 maple. The thorn-tree before me was perhaps 

 fifteen feet high. It divided near the ground 

 into two branches, which drew apart, bent over, 

 and became nearly horizontal at their extremi- 

 ties. On one of these main stems, near the end, 

 where it was not more than an inch and a half 

 in diameter, with neither cross-branch nor twig 

 to make it secure, was placed the nest. It was 

 a large structure, at least twice the size of a 

 robin's nest, made apparently of coarse twigs 

 and roots, with what looked like bits of turf or 

 moss showing through the sides, and why it did 

 not fall off in the first strong wind was a mys- 

 tery. Parallel with the limb on which it rested, 

 and only a few inches above it, was another 

 branch, that must, one would think, be seriously 

 in the way of the coming and going, the feeding 

 and care-taking, inseparable from life in the 

 nest. 



