VIII. 

 UPON THE TREE-TOP.' 



WHEN I stepped into the yard of the cottage 

 that was to be my home for a month, the first 

 bird I saw was a Baltimore oriole, perched on a 

 dead branch near the top of a tall old apple- 

 tree. His rich colors shone brightly against the 

 foliage behind him, and he was evidently at 

 home, for he had the air of a proprietor. I was 

 pleased ; but the sentiment was not mutual. 

 He greeted me with scolding, and as that did 

 not drive me away he became restless, hopped 

 from branch to branch, flirting his tail and 

 showing extreme uneasiness. Looking about 

 for the reason of his uncalled-for hostilities, I 

 saw the nest, on a slender branch of a young 

 maple, ten or twelve feet high. He was on 

 guard, and it was in his official capacity of spe- 

 cial police that he had given me so inhospitable 

 a reception. Nor could I wonder ; it must have 

 been disconcerting to him. Relying upon a cot- 

 tage shut up and stowing no signs of life, he 



