THE CHAT TRIUMPHANT. 257 



dents have seen bird mothers do a thousand 

 times. 



After this performance a silence fell upon the 

 tangle and the solitary nook in which I sat, 

 and I meditated. It was the last day of my stay. 

 Should I set up a search for that nest which I 

 was sure was within reach ? I could go over the 

 whole in half an hour, examine .every shrub and 

 low tree and inch of ground in it, and doubtless 

 I should find it. No ; I do not care for a nest 

 thus forced. The distress of parents, the panic 

 of nestlings, give me no pleasure. I know how 

 a chat's nest looks. I have seen one with its 

 pinky-pearl eggs ; why should I care to see 

 another ? I know how young birds look ; I have 

 seen dozens of them this very summer. Far 

 better that I never lay eyes upon the nest than 

 to do it at such cost. 



As I reached this conclusion, into the midst 

 of my silence came the steady tramp of a horse. 

 I knew the wild rose path was a favorite retreat 

 from the sun, and it was very hot. The path 

 was narrow ; if a horse came in upon me, he 

 could not turn round and retreat, nor was there 

 room for him to pass me. Realizing all this in 

 an instant, I snatched up my belongings, and hur- 

 ried to get out before he should get in. 



When I emerged, the chat set up his loudest 

 and most triumphant shouts. " Again we have 



