FIELD AND STUDY 



made no attempt to recover them from the wet 

 grass. When white paper is not available, the thrush 

 usually starts her nest with dry maple leaves; she 

 rejects newspapers and colored papers of all kinds. 

 It is probably the printer's ink, and not the politics 

 of the newspaper, that causes her to reject its frag- 

 ments. 



The next day my thrushes abandoned the site 

 where the paper acted so contrarily, and began a nest 

 higher up in the tree, saddling it on a large, hori- 

 zontal branch, but still weaving a piece of white 

 paper in its foundation. Here the pair prospered, 

 and by the middle of June brought forth their 

 brood of three young. In a warmer season they 

 would doubtless have had four. 



On the same wet morning, while on my way to 

 the post-office, in the rain, I saw a wood thrush 

 flying through the dripping trees and bushes with 

 a large piece of white paper in her beak. "Another 

 home being started on a paper foundation," I said, 

 "and on a wet morning, at that." I followed the 

 bird with my eye and saw her fly to the top of a 

 tall white elder-bush and place the paper in the 

 forking branches. I tarried while she flew over to- 

 ward the grocery-store for more material. Presently 

 she came back with a long, ragged piece of paper 

 that trailed behind her like a banner. As she flew 

 through the tops of the bushes with her burden, it 

 caught on a limb and fell to the ground. She dived 



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