GLIMPSES OF WILD LIFE 185 



laid low. No more songs from the treetop, and no 

 more songs from any point, till nearly a week had 

 elapsed, when I heard him again under the hill, 

 where the pair had started a new nest, cautiously 

 tuning up, and apparently with his recent bitter 

 experience still weighing upon him. 



After a pair of birds have been broken up once or 

 twice during the season, they become almost des- 

 perate, and will make great efforts to outwit their ene- 

 mies. The past season my attention was attracted 

 by a pair of brown thrashers. They first built their 

 nest in a pasture-field under a low, scrubby apple- 

 tree which the cattle had browsed down till it 

 spread a thick, wide mass of thorny twigs only a few 

 inches above the ground. Some blackberry briers 

 had also grown there, so that the screen was per- 

 fect. My dog first started the bird, as I was passing 

 by. By stooping low and peering intently, I could 

 make out the nest and eggs. Two or three times a 

 week, as I passed by, I would pause to see how the 

 nest was prospering. The mother bird would keep 

 her place, her yellow eyes never blinking. One 

 morning as I looked into her tent I found the nest 

 empty. Some night-prowler, probably a skunk or 

 fox, or maybe a black snake or red squirrel by day, 

 had plundered it. It would seem as if it was too 

 well screened : it was in such a spot as any depreda- 

 tor would be apt to explore. " Surely," he would 

 say, " this is a likely place for a nest." The birds 

 then moved over the hill a hundred rods or more, 

 much nearer the house, and in some rather open 



