HIDDEN TREASURE 95 



bird whose name-note was phoebe. Just within the 

 doorway, on an oak beam, I found her new-finished 

 nest of fresh, bright, green moss. 



All that morning I followed orchid-haunted paths 

 through dim aisles of high pine trees without finding 

 a nest. When I gave up hunting for them, they ap- 

 peared. Toward noon I had put together a pocket 

 rod and was wading down the bed of a little brook, 

 to catch a few trout for lunch. In a little pool at 

 the foot of a laurel bush, I landed a plump jeweled 

 fish. I cast again, and my hook caught a low hang- 

 ing branch. I gave the bough a shake, and from the 

 foot of the bush a pale brown bird stole out. A 

 moment later I was looking at my first veery's nest. 

 It seemed strange to meet face to face this dweller in 

 the dark woods. Usually I had heard his weird harp- 

 notes from the cool green depths of the thicket, but 

 with never a glimpse of the singer. To-day he sat on 

 a low branch within six feet, and I could plainly see 

 the faintly marked breast and the white spot under 

 the beak which are the field-marks of the veery, or 

 Wilson's thrush. Both birds flittered around me like 

 ghosts, saying faintly, "Wheer! wheer! wheer!" 

 The nest was built just off the ground and lined with 

 brown leaves, and held four of the most vivid blue 

 eggs owned by any of the bird-folk. The eggs of the 

 cat-bird are of a deeper blue, but the strange vivid 

 brightness of the veery's eggs makes all other blue 

 eggs look faded by contrast. 



All too soon my glorious week of treasure-hunting 

 drew to a close. For the last day were reserved the 



