A MURDEROUS-LOOKING OPERATION. 117 



confirmed me that birdlings were out. Like 

 other bird mammas, she sat on those infants as 

 steadily as she had sat on the eggs, and it was a 

 day or two later before I saw her feed. This 

 was the murderous-looking fashion in which that 

 dainty sprite administered nourishment to her 

 babies : she clung to the edge of the nest, and 

 appeared to address herself to the task of charg- 

 ing an old-fashioned muzzle-loading gun, using 

 her beak for a ramrod, and sending it well home, 

 violently enough, one would suppose, to disinte- 

 grate the nestling on whom she operated. If I 

 had not read Mr. Torrey's description of hum- 

 mingbird feeding, I should have thought the 

 green-clad dame was destroying her offspring, 

 instead of tenderly ministering to their wants. 



Bird babies grow apace. Appetites waxed 

 stronger, and the trumpet-vine had dropped its 

 blossoms. The little mother had to seek new 

 fields, and she settled on a patch of jewel-weed 

 for her supplies. Now, if ever, was needed the 

 help of her mate, but not once did he show him- 

 self. Was he loitering as the books hint 

 at a distance, and did she go to him now and 

 then, on her many journeys, to tell him how the 

 young folk progressed ? I cannot tell ; I was 

 busy watching the business partner; I had no 

 time to hunt up absentees. But I have a 

 " theory," which may or may not explain his 



