FIELD AND STUDY 



The di^50ove^y of a binl's nest is usually so much 

 a matter of chance that I always consider myself in 

 luck when I find one. One morning in a little op>en- 

 ing which the woodchoppers had made in the beech 

 woods, I stumbled upon a junco's nest. It was in a 

 mossy bank ne:\T a pile of cord wood. The mother 

 bird flew out from the little cavity in which the nest 

 was placed, when I w:is about a yard from her. 

 After tliat, in mj' walk, I fomid m.v steps very often 

 taking tliat course. In some way I felt m\'self re- 

 sponsible for tliat ne^t. I wanted to see it tlirough. 

 Then a bit of still wild hfe in tlie grei\t unkempt, 

 haph;iz;ird out-of-doors, exposed to so man^' dan- 

 gers Ix^th by night and by day, so frail and so en- 

 gaging, one of the most ple^ising open secrets in all 

 the woods and fields, drew me by a magic all its own. 

 A larije herd of dairv cows browsed and trailed 

 through these woods and I wondered if the httle 

 nest could long escape tlieir hoofs. The night prowl- 

 ers, too, — the skunks, foxes, coons, cats, — would 

 they all pass it by? I used to linger about it. I could 

 see the bird's white beak and her black, shining 

 eyes there in the small ca^-ity. partly screened by 

 \*ines and wild, woodsy growths. The spot seemed a 

 little different from all others. I laid some poles and 

 brush carelessly about to ward off the cows. One 

 hot morning I sat a long time on a rock near by, 

 I>artly to enjoy the cool breeze and partly to be near 

 the junco. I occasionally saw the male hanging 



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