TWO BIRDS'-NESTS 



position; there is a kind of harmony and tranquil- 

 lity in all their movements; but the bird I am 

 speaking of is sharp, restless, hurried. Its song is 

 brilliant, its movements quick and decisive. You 

 hear its emphatic chirp, and see it dart swiftly be- 

 neath or through the branches that reach out over 

 the creek. 



It nests upon the ground, or amid the roots of an 

 upturned tree in the woods near the water that it 

 haunts. Every season for many years I have looked 

 for the nest, but failed to find it till last summer. 



My son and I were camping in the Catskills, when 

 one day, as I was slowly making my way down one of 

 those limpid trout streams, I saw a water-thrush dart 

 from out a pile of logs and driftwood that the floods 

 had left on the margin of the stream. The bird at 

 once betrayed much anxiety, and I knew the nest 

 was near. 



I proceeded carefully to explore the pile of drift- 

 wood, and especially the roots of an upturned tree 

 which it held. I went over the mass almost inch by 

 inch several times. There was a little cavern in it, 

 a yard or more deep, where the light was dim; a 

 translucent pool of water formed the floor of it, and 

 kept me from passing its threshold. I suspected the 

 nest was in there amid the roots or broken branches, 

 but my eye failed to detect it. 



"I will go on with my fishing," I said, "and re* 

 turn to-morrow and lay siege to tliis secret." 



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