A BRAVE LITTLE MOTHER. 83 



suddenly a shadowy f orin passed in directly from 

 the front, stayed an instant, and left in the same 

 way. It was perfectly silent, not the slightest 

 rustle of a feather, and it was so near the ground 

 I could not tell whether it flew or ran ; it ap- 

 peared to glide. Brave little creature ! I was 

 heartily ashamed of annoying her. I moved my 

 seat to a more respectful distance, and she went 

 in and out as usual. 



It was much more satisfactory watching the 

 little mother about her daily cares than trying 

 to keep track of her mate. He was one of the 

 most baffling birds I ever tried to spy upon. 

 Often I heard his delightful song so near that I 

 was sure in a moment I should see him. Then 

 I peered through the low bushes, without moving 

 so much as an eyelash, expecting every instant 

 that my eyes would fall upon him, and certain 

 that not a leaf had rustled nor a twig sprung 

 back, when all at once I heard him on the other 

 side. He had flitted through the underbrush, 

 not flying much, but hopping on or very near 

 the ground, without a breath to betray him. The 

 wren mother could not hide herself so completely 

 from me, there being one spot on earth she could 

 not desert, the charming nook that held her 

 babies ; and yet, be as motionless as I might, I 

 could not deceive her. She never could be con- 

 vinced that I was a queer-shaped bush, not even 



