72 WILD LIFE AND THE CAMERA 



good picture could scarcely be hoped for. A small 

 looking-glass, however, served to alter things, by 

 throwing the sunlight into the nest, so that only a 

 very short exposure was necessary. 



My mind was fully made up to make the further 

 acquaintance of this little thrush-like warbler after 

 the arrival of her brood, for it is only then that one 

 can really get to know a bird. The day arrived, and 

 the four little trembling pink bodies had taken the 

 place of the speckled eggs. They were too small to 

 photograph then, so I left them for two days and 

 then made one photograph, thinking that later on, as 

 they grew stronger, I should be able to photograph 

 them at different stages of their growth. But this 

 was not to be. As I approached the domed 

 nursery I was greeted by the pitiful complaining 

 note of the pair of ovenbirds. This was not the 

 way in which they usually greeted me. I feared 

 the worst, and my fears were realised. In place of 

 the nest there was only a tangled and shattered 

 heap of weed stems and dry leaves the materials 

 that but a few hours before had constituted a 

 beautiful example of bird architecture. In the 

 soft earth, within thirty inches of the ruins, was the 

 print of a cat's foot. Sick at heart, I left the 

 scene of misery and desolation, vowing an awful 

 vengeance against cats in general. 



