GLIMPSES OF WILD LIFK l«i) 



It was late in July, and slie hail ihmljtlesa 

 reared one brood in tlie earlier season. Her 

 toilet was decidedly the worse for wear. I 

 noted her day after day very busy about the 

 fence and quince bushes between the Ikjusc and 

 milk house with her beak full of coarse straw 

 and hay. To a casual observer she seemed Hit- 

 ting about aimlessly, carrying straws from place 

 to place just to amuse herself. When I came 

 to watch her closely to learn the place of her 

 nest, she seemed to suspect my intention and 

 made many little feints and movements calcu- 

 lated to put me olf the track. But I would not 

 be misled, and presently had her secret. The 

 male did not assist her at all, but sang much of 

 the time in an apple-tree or upon the fence, on 

 the other side of the house. Those artists who 

 paint pictures of devoted male birds singing 

 from the branch that holds the nest, or in its 

 immediate vicinity, do not give the birds credit 

 for all the wit they possess. They do not ad- 

 vertise the place where their treasures are hid 

 in this way. See yonder indigo-bird shaking 

 out its happy song from the topmost twig of the 

 maple or oak; its nest is many yards away in 

 a low bush not more than three feet from the 

 ground. 



And so with nearly all the birds. The one 

 thing to which they bend all tlieir wits is the 

 concealment of their nests. \\'lien you come 

 upon the sitting bird, she will almost let you 

 touch her rather than to start up before you and 

 thus betray her secret. The bobolink begins 



