eggs ! Doubtless she watches the yellow bird strip- 

 ping the dry grass stems and gathering the pappus 

 of last year's cattails ; squats low in the grass and 

 looks all unconcerned while she marks the tree to 

 which the fluffy material is carried, and bides her 

 time till the nest is ready. Strange that she should 

 never discover in herself the home-making instinct, 

 for even nomads have their tents. Stranger still 

 she should never once wish to undertake the duties 

 of motherhood. 



For a time, perhaps, the young cowbird is in- 

 fluenced by the habit of the bird that happens to 

 mother it, whether this be a ground-sparrow or a 

 tree-loving flycatcher. But it grows up a cowbird 

 with all the inheritance of that peculiar tribe, and 

 its brief contact with a superior race leaves no im- 

 press upon it. 



In spite of cowbirds and the exigencies of life 

 the woods are full of young birds, their tails not 

 yet grown. This is their childhood a brief 

 one as the days in the nest were their infancy. 

 They are exacting children, yet they do not clamor 

 to be amused, but only to be fed. I have seen a 

 young chipping-sparrow, its tail half grown, show- 

 ing how recently it was from the nest, pick up a 



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