THE EMPTY NEST. 57 



But silence seemed to have fallen upon the 

 cedar, late so full of life. In vain I listened for 

 another cry ; in vain I watched for another visit 

 from the parents. All were busy in the garden 

 and lot, and if any baby were in that nest it 

 must surely starve. Occasionally a bird came 

 back, hunted a little over the old ground in the 

 yard, perched a moment on the fence, and sa- 

 luted me with a low squawk, but their interest 

 in the place was plainly over. 



After two hours I concluded the nest was 

 empty ; and a curious performance of the head 

 of the late family convinced me it was so. He 

 came quite near to me, perched on a bush in the 

 yard, fixed his eyes on me, and then, with great 

 deliberation, first huffed, then squawked, then 

 sang a little, then flew. I do not know what the 

 bird meant to say, but this is what it expressed 

 to me : " You 've worried us all through this 

 trying time, but you did n't get one of our 

 babies ! Hurrah ! " 



In the afternoon I had the nest brought down 

 to me. For foundation it had a mass of small 

 twigs from six to eight inches long, crooked 

 and forked and straight, which were so slightly 

 held together that they could only be handled 

 by lifting with both hands, and placing at once 

 in a cloth, where they were carefully tied in. 

 Within this mass of twigs was the nest proper, 



