258 FROM BLOMIDON TO SMOKY. 



ing, whistling, and chirping in the chimney, and 

 as I glanced up I saw that one of the birds was 

 coming to the nest and the other just going off 

 up chimney. Suddenly there was a grating 

 sound, a sharp outcry, more booming and flut- 

 tering, and I jumped to my feet and knelt before 

 the glass to gain a closer view of the chimney. 

 The nest had vanished. Only a tiny piece of 

 glue adhered to the slight curve in the bricks 

 under which the nest had been attached. The 

 parent bird, with ruffled plumage and rapidly 

 moving head, clung near the spot where her 

 home had been, and seemed to me to be looking 

 with terror far down into that horrible abyss 

 where her young had fallen, and from which 

 they sent back no cry. Taking down the jointed 

 rod, I used the small mirror to search every part 

 of the great chimney cavern which could be 

 reached, but in vain. The nest had gone straight 

 down without touching any fireplace, and had 

 been lost forever in the debris and stifling dust 

 at the bottom of the shaft. 



During the remainder of the day the birds 

 fluttered back and forth and lamented. They did 

 not go more than two or three inches below the 

 spot where the ill-fated nest had been. At in- 

 tervals during the night I heard them moving in 

 the chimney, but on Monday they stayed away 

 most of the time, even during a heavy shower 



