64 WHEN NESTING IS OVER. 



One morning the brown thrush baby, who 

 had been rapidly growing self-reliant, came 

 alone for the first time. It was interesting to 

 watch him, running along the tops of the pick- 

 ets; searching in the hot grass till out of breath 

 for something to eat; looking around in a sur- 

 prised way, as if wondering why the food did not 

 come; making a dash, with childlike innocence, 

 after a strawberry he saw in the mouth of a 

 robin, who in amazement leaped a foot in the 

 air; and at last flying to a tree to call and listen 

 for his sire. That wise personage, meanwhile, 

 had stolen silently into the grove, all dripping 

 from his bath in the bay, and while indulging 

 in a most elaborate dressing and pluming, had 

 kept one eye on the infant in the grass be- 

 low, apparently to see how he got on by himself. 

 When at last the little one stood panting and 

 discouraged, he called, a single "chirp." The 

 relieved youngster recognized it and answered, 

 and at once flew over to join him. 



This restless young thrasher, excepting that 

 he was perhaps somewhat lighter in color and a 

 little less glossy of coat, looked at that moment 

 as old as he ever would. Nothing but his in- 

 genuous ways, and his soft baby-cry "chr-er-er " 

 revealed his tender age. His curiosity when he 

 found hinlself in an unfamiliar place or on a 

 strange tree was amusing. He looked up and 



