The Wit of the Wild 



r 



warblers, snugly tucked into a tiny cave of the 

 hillside close to the path. This morning I 

 found that the fledglings were out, one flutter- 

 ing in a thick little bush as if unable to make 

 its way through the tangle of twigs. Their 

 mother was distracted with care, and leaped 

 upon the leg of my trousers, where she clung 

 sideways and looked up at me with black eyes 

 " popping " with fear. Then she caught sight 

 of my terrier, and her wits returned promptly. 

 He was comprehensible. Springing at him like 

 a fury, she whirled around his head and then 

 dropping before his nose feigned helplessness, 

 and let the surprised, but innocent, dog chase 

 her until they were far away from the young. I 

 never saw a bird do the broken-wing dodge 

 better. Waggles was astounded to see her quick 

 recovery at the proper time, and trotted sheep- 

 ishly back to me, confessing that he had learned 

 a new wrinkle in woodcraft. The incident took 

 some of the conceit out of me, as well as my 

 dog ; for, without thinking about it, I had been 

 regarding this well-known action of birds as 

 directed wholly toward human alarms, whereas, 

 + 62 So 



