106 THE WILES OF A WARBLER 



scene, and a chorus of fine thread-like 

 "pip's" came down to me from the roof of 

 the nook. I suppose they were parula baby- 

 cries, but when warblers take their young 

 folk into the tops of tall spruces, they are 

 as much lost as if they had gone into the 

 next state, and I sought them no more. 



In a day or two I procured a ladder and 

 saw, and a man to use them, and had the 

 branch sawed off and the nest brought down. 

 It was so frail I wondered it could have held 

 little birds. But it was a typical parula 

 structure, merely the strands of moss drawn 

 together to form a cradle, the whole of one 

 side left open almost to the very bottom, so 

 that it was marvelous that eggs or young 

 had not fallen out. There was not a parti- 

 cle of lining of any sort, and the whole was 

 as dainty and fresh as if no living creature 

 had ever entered it. The bunch of moss was 

 not more than six or seven inches long, of a 

 beautiful sage-green color, and it hung from 

 a dead twig smaller than an ordinary lead- 

 pencil. 



" All our endeavors or wit cannot so much 

 as reach to represent the nest of the least 



