Music of the Wild 



Fifteen feet high in the branches of one of 

 these old apple trees a robin built her nest before 

 A True leafage in the wet, cold April of 1907. There 

 Mother were t wo eggs when one morning found the cradle 

 filled with snow, and I thought she would desert 

 it, but later she returned. Surely brooding bird 

 never had a more uncomfortable time. The tree 

 had borne apples the previous year, and of course 

 she thought it alive and expected protection from 

 the leaves. It was quite dead, and never a sign of 

 bloom or leaf appeared. 



The weather changed abruptly each day. With 

 no shelter whatever she sat through freezing nights, 

 snowy days, sleet, rain, and flashes of hot sunshine. 

 When she had four babies almost ready to leave 

 the nest, a terrific cold rain began on Saturday 

 morning. By afternoon it poured, and she pointed 

 her bill skyward and gasped for breath. I fully 

 expected that she would desert the nest and seek 

 shelter before morning, but she remained, although 

 drenched and half dead. That rain continued all 

 of Sunday, pouring at times, until Monday morn- 

 ing. Although I watched by the hour, not once 

 from the time it began until rifts of sunlight 

 showed Monday morning did I see her leave her 

 nest or feed the young, or her mate bring her a 

 morsel of food. For an hour at a stretch, several 

 times a day, I thought she would drown. My lad- 

 der had been erected for some time before her lo- 

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