BIRD'S-NESTING 113 



"No," said I, "lawyers have to work for a liv- 

 ing." 



"There'll be blue-gray gnatcatchers and mocking- 

 birds and Acadian flycatchers, " he tried again. 



"No," said I. 



"I've found out where the prothonotary warbler 

 lives," he said once more. 



"No," said I. 



"We may find its nest," he continued. "No one 

 up here has seen one for years. " 



"No," said I firmly. "What time does the train 

 start?" 



Sunset found me Somewhere in Maryland. I was 

 squeezed into a buggy built for one, along with the 

 Miller, at whose house we were intending to stop, 

 and the Banker, who is constructed on flowing, 

 generous lines. We drove creakingly through miles 

 and miles of blossoming peach orchards. At the 

 Miller's house we ate the worst supper that money 

 could buy. The Miller's wife had evidently been 

 born a bad cook, and by careful practice had become 

 worse. It was over at last, and the Banker and I 

 retired to a room under the rafters which contained 

 one window and a mountainous bed. The rest of the 

 space was taken up by mosquitoes. I undressed, 

 jumped into the bed, and sank out of sight. The 

 Banker located me by my muffled cries for help, and 

 pulled me to the surface just in time to save my life. 

 Thereafter we molded a conical crater in that feather- 

 bed and carefully fitted ourselves in, leaving a large 

 air-hole at the top. 



