SWAMP WHITE-OAK BEND. 95 



en, and proved simply perfect as a blind. The coinci- 

 dence of the bird's leaving the nest, just as I passed in 

 front of it, alone led to my discovering it. I doubt if, 

 an hour later, I could readily have found it again. 



The occupant of this earth - retreat, like my erratic 

 friend in the yard, was far from pleased at my inquisi- 

 tiveness, and when I was far over the dew - drenched 

 meadows, I could still hear its shrill scolding, though the 

 sound was softened almost to a song, through the kindly 

 office of the fog- thick air. 



As I listened, I recalled another and unfortunate wren 

 of my acquaintance. In a hollow oak that stood alone 

 on the edge of a marshy meadow, a Carolina wren made 

 his home during the past winter and devoted his time 

 to singing and spider hunting, when not obliged to de- 

 fend his castle from besieging blue-jays, prying owls, or 

 prowling mammals. I made his acquaintance early in 

 December, and many were the curious adventures of the 

 bird that I chanced to witness. These culminated at 

 the close of the winter. 



During a blustering snow-storm, an opossum wandered 

 to the tree and climbed to the very roosting-place of my 

 wren. The tracks in the snow showed that he had en- 

 tered but a short time before I happened on the spot. 

 I am not positive, and can never determine the truth, 

 but it is my firm conviction that the wren, which ap- 

 peared to know me well and was quite tame, intended 

 to relate his troubles. Fluttering near my head, he 

 chirped, twittered, and scolded in an excited yet earnest 

 manner. 



I surmised the difficulty, but was not so well satisfied 



