LIKE BUNDLES OF RAGS. 135 



taking her old place on the nest. Apparently it 

 is with humming as with some human mothers, 

 hard to realize that their offspring are no 

 longer infants. On one occasion it looked as 

 if the two united in their rebellion and pushed 

 her away, for she actually lost her balance and 

 plunged forward off the nest. She recovered 

 herself almost instantly, but it was a real tumble 

 for the moment. At eleven days began the flut- 

 ter of wings that should hardly rest in life. 

 Shadowy little things they were, lifted above the 

 nest and waved rapidly a few seconds at a time. 



As the interesting nestlings approached the 

 end of their second week, I began to be con- 

 cerned about the frail walls of their cradle. 

 They had become so lively in movements that it 

 rocked and swayed in its place, and on one side 

 the cotton protruded through its lichen cover. I 

 dreaded to see a little foot thrust out at this 

 point, and wondered if my clumsy fingers could 

 perform the delicate task of replacing it. 



On the morning they were two weeks old a 

 strong wind set in from the northwest, and I 

 drew down the branch with dread of finding 

 it empty. The younglings were wide awake, 

 though settled down into the nest. They looked 

 at me and uttered their soft cries. They now 

 resembled bundles of rags, for feathers were 

 breaking out all over them in the well-defined 



