80 A WOODLAND INTIMATE. 



Walking homeward, I bethought myself 

 how foolish I had been not to offer my little 

 protegee something to eat. Accordingly, in 

 the morning, before starting out, I filled a 

 small box with leaves from the garden 

 rose-bush, which, as usual, had plenty of 

 plant-lice upon it. Armed in this manner, 

 as perhaps no ornithologist ever went armed 

 before, I approached the nest, and to my 

 delight saw it still unharmed (I never came 

 in sight of it without dreading to find it 

 pillaged) ; but just as I was putting my 

 hand into my pocket for the box, off started 

 the bird. Here was a disappointment in- 

 deed ; but in the next breath I assured my- 

 self that the recreant must be the male, who 

 for once had been spelling his companion. 

 So I fell back a little, and in a minute or 

 less one of the pair went on to brood. This 

 was the mother, without question, and I 

 again drew near. True enough, she wel- 

 comed me with all her customary polite- 

 ness. No matter what her husband might 

 say, she knew better than to distrust an 

 inoffensive, kind -hearted gentleman like 

 myself. Had I not proved myself such 

 time and again ? So I imagined her to be 



