152 YOUNG AMERICA IN FEATHERS. 



two notes, startlingly like a man's whistle to a 

 dog, when instantly a young oriole flew out of 

 the apple-tree and joined his parents. Then the 

 low note began again, and the family departed. 

 The infant who receives such devoted care is 

 a pretty little creature in dull yellow, and the 

 most persistent cry-baby I know in the bird- 

 world, though several are not far behind him in 

 this accomplishment. His plaint begins when 

 he mounts the edge of the nest preparatory to 

 his debut, and ceases hardly a minute for days, 

 a long-drawn shuddering wail, that suggests no- 

 thing less than great suffering, starvation, or 

 some other affliction hard to be borne. What 

 makes the case still worse, the nursery is high, 

 and each nestling chooses for himself the direc- 

 tion in which he will depart. East and west, 

 north and south, they scatter ; and where one 

 lands, there he will stay for hours, if not days, 

 drawn down into a little heap, looking lonely 

 and miserable, and apparently impressed with 

 the sole idea that he must keep himself before 

 the world by his voice, or he will be lost and 

 forgotten. It is no wonder that, between the 

 labor of collecting food and following up the 

 family to administer it, the mother becomes 

 faded and draggled, and the father abandons 

 his music, and goes about near the ground, 

 grubbing like any ditch-digger. 



