UNDER THE MAPLES 



daub our porches with their mud, and in July leave 

 a trail of minute creeping and crawling pests, 

 were not themselves hatched and reared in the 

 pretty, moss-covered structure under the shelving 

 rocks in the woods, or on the hillsides. 



How different from the manners of the robins 

 are the manners of a pair of catbirds that have a 

 nest in the honeysuckle against the side of the first- 

 floor sleeping-porch! Nothing seems farther from 

 the nature of the catbird than the hue and cry 

 which the robin at times sets up. The catbird is 

 sly and dislikes publicity. An appealing feline 

 mew is her characteristic note. She never raises 

 her voice like the town-crier, as the robin does, 

 perched in the mean time where all eyes may behold 

 him. The catbird peers and utters her soft protest 

 from her hiding-place in the bushes. This par- 

 ticular pair of catbirds appeared in early May and 

 began slyly to look over the situation in the vines 

 and bushes about the house. All their proceedings 

 were very stealthy; they were like two dark shad- 

 ows gliding about, avoiding observation — no tree- 

 tops or house-tops for them, but coverts close to 

 the ground. We hoped they would divine safety 

 in the shadow of the cottage, but tried to act as 

 if oblivious of their goings and comings. We saw 

 them now and then stealthily inspecting the tangle 

 of honeysuckle on the east side of the veranda, 

 where a robin last season reared a brood, and the 



