THE TRAGEDIES OF THE NESTS 69 



a few yards from the house, beside the drive, upon 

 a smooth piece of greensward. There was not a 

 weed or a shrub or anything whatever to conceal it 

 or mark its site. The structure was completed, 

 and incubation had begun, before I discovered what 

 was going on. "Well, well," I said, looking down 

 upon the bird almost at my feet, "this is going to 

 the other extreme indeed; now the cats will have 

 you." The desperate little bird sat there day after 

 day, looking like a brown leaf pressed down in the 

 short green grass. As the weather grew hot, her 

 position became very trying. It was no longer a 

 question of keeping the eggs warm, but of keeping 

 them from roasting. The sun had no mercy on 

 her, and she fairly panted in the middle of the 

 day. In such an emergency the male robin has 

 been known to perch above the sitting female and 

 shade her with his outstretched wings. But in this 

 case there was no perch for the male bird, had he 

 been disposed to make a sunshade of himself. I 

 thought to lend a hand in this direction myself, 

 and so stuck a leafy twig beside the nest. This 

 was probably an unwise interference: it guided 

 disaster to the spot; the nest was broken up, and 

 the mother bird was probably caught, as I never 

 saw her afterward. 



For several previous summers a pair of kingbirds 

 had reared, unmolested, a brood of young in an 

 apple-tree, only a few yards from the house; but 

 during this season disaster overtook them also. 

 The nest was completed, the eggs laid, and incuba- 



