Birds of the Field 



and taking flight on the first approach of man, 

 the white feathers beneath their wings making 

 them conspicuous as they rise one after the other. 

 In the nesting season, however, they are bold 

 enough, and I have frequently seen them attack 

 and drive away a Kestrel or Jackdaw that ven- 

 tured too near their young. They begin to build 

 so early and set to work so quietly that they 

 attract but little notice, and before the cold March 

 winds have ceased to blow the nest is completed, 

 and four bluish green eggs, speckled with reddish 

 brown, are laid. It is constructed after the usual 

 Thrush method first a rough, cup-shaped frame- 

 work of bents, moss and wool ; then a lining of mud 

 is added, and the interior is finally finished off neatly 

 with a second lining of fine grasses. Placed high 

 up in a fork of some tall tree the nest is to an un- 

 practised eye difficult to discover, especially if the 

 builders have decked it with lichen. A certain 

 slovenliness, however, often betrays its where- 

 abouts. Long stalks of grass left hanging loose, 

 bits of wool insecurely fastened and rendered yet 

 more untidy by the wind, catch the eye, and the 

 owner's secret is disclosed. Some apparently 

 trust to inaccessibility for safety, making no 

 attempt to conceal their nest, while others resort 

 to orchards, building low down in the fork of an 

 apple tree with a trust that boy nature too often 

 fails to justify. 



The Missel is easily distinguished from the 



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