A CONFESSION 73 



the third in my search an irresist- 

 ible drawing brought me again to his coun- 

 try, to the same comfortable cottage on the 

 coast. 



There, sure enough, were the birds, volu- 

 ble as ever. Their soft, peculiar calls came 

 from every side, and their strange recitatives 

 or conversation resounded from the tree- 

 tops. 



Now must be made a confession : I am 

 quick to know a bird's note, and no one can 

 outdo me in patience and long-suffering in 

 watching them but I have not the gift of 

 finding nests. Nothing seemed more hope- 

 less than to search that impenetrable jungle 

 of close - growing spruces, while retaining 

 uncertain footing on rocks lying at all an- 

 gles, and slippery with dry spruce-needles. 

 I did not attempt it. I resumed my walks, 

 down to the shore, up the stony pathway 

 to the woods, and enjoyed the birds every- 

 where. 



The olive-backs soon made themselves 

 obvious. About four A. M. they came around 

 the house uttering their quiet, reserved, far- 

 off " chack." It seemed that a dozen might 



