148 THE BOBOLINKS NEST. 



some of his special treasures, some rare exotic 

 which he had cultivated with care ? 



"Where did you find that stuff?" he de- 

 manded. I was instantly relieved; no man will 

 call a treasure "stuff." 



"In the meadow," I answered. "What is 

 it?" 



"You must show me the exact spot," he said, 

 emphatically. "I shall have a man out at once, 

 to get it up, root and branch. It 's the devil's 

 paintbrush." 



"Then his majesty has good taste in color," 

 I said. 



"That stuff," he went on, "spreads like wild- 

 fire. It '11 eat up my meadow in a year." 



I turned back and showed him the spot from 

 which my flowers had come, pointing out at the 

 same time two or three other clumps I could see 

 farther out in the waving green sea, and before 

 long his farmer and he were very busy over them. 



Now it appeared that in tramping about the 

 deep grass, where we bird-students dared not 

 set our feet, he had nearly stepped on a bobo- 

 link, who flew, and thus pointed out her nest; 

 and he had taken its bearings with the intention 

 of putting us to shame. 



We looked long at the tiny trio so compactly 

 packed in their cradle, till they awoke and de- 

 manded supplies. Then we carefully replanted 



