WHAT I HAVE DONE WITH BIRDS 



"A baby thrust its head through its mother's breast feathers, laid it on the rough 

 edge of the nest and went to sleep" 



and where a babel of bird- voices had commingled before that cry, 

 not a sound was heard afterward. Even the Lark hurriedly 

 dropped to earth and was lost in the wheat. 



But Mother Jay stoutly stuck to her nest, and presently her 

 mate came slipping through the trees and went to her to learn if 

 she were all right. It did not seem possible that the strident rasp 

 of that warning and the tender softly-modulated rejoicing in 

 which he now indulged could come from the throat of the same 

 bird. His every action proclaimed that he had come to tell her 

 how he loved her and that she need never have a fear while he was 

 on guard. Surely that was what he told her, though to me it 

 sounded like, "Chinkle-choo, tinkle, tankle, tunkle! Binkle, ran- 

 kle, runkle! Tee, chee, twee?" Then he flew to the top of the 

 tallest tree of the orchard and stood guard again. 



Gradually I moved up until I stood where a tripod should be 

 placed, and the brooding bird never flinched. Slowly and care- 



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