GREETING ME WITH CRIES. 139 



near the apple-tree. Madam left her nest and 

 they had a chase, both passing out of sight. In 

 neither case was there any show of anger, cries, 

 loud hum, or savage rushes, as I have seen when 

 hummingbirds are on the war-path. In neither 

 case, also, could I see the visiting bird plainly 

 enough to determine the sex. It may have been 

 the missing spouse, but then, also, it may not 

 have been. . 



Nor did it trouble me that I could not solve 

 the mystery. Very early in my study of birds I 

 learned to be content to let many things remain 

 unknown, hoping that some future day would 

 reveal them, and to enjoy what Nature offers me 

 to-day without mourning over things she this 

 time withholds. 



August was drawing to an end, and claims 

 from the outer world grew clamorous. It wrung 

 my heart to abandon those babies before they 

 could fly, but relentlessly the days went by. 

 The last one arrived, and I went out for a fare- 

 well look at the little ones, now eighteen and 

 nineteen days old. They sat as usual side by 

 side across the nest, and greeted rne with their 

 sweet little cries. They were completely feath- 

 ered, though here and there one of the infan- 

 tile hairs still stuck up between the plumage, 

 the backs a golden green, and the throat and 

 breast snowy white. They returned my gaze 



