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Bird - Lore 



watching her, she calmly closed her eyes and settled herself down for a nap. 

 I had been hoping, from day to day, to have some one photograph her while 

 in the act of feeding, or at least, while upon her nest. But I had taken too 

 much for granted in believing that this happy state of affairs could last. 

 Upon going to the nest one morning, everything seemed strangely quiet — 

 no little mother there: thinking it only right to see what had happened, I 

 pulled down the branch, and looked into the nest, finding left in it but one 

 small dead bird. My feelings of disappointment and regret cannot be 

 expressed ; my anger toward the robber knew no bounds. 



Scarcely could I leave the spot, where, lingering, I hoped to discover 

 some clue to the tragedy. While I waited, suddenly both birds came back; 

 the mother (as I supposed) flying directly to the nest, looking into it, and 

 picking at something she found there. Immediately it occurred to me, to 

 try feeding her as usual. I walked up to her, offering the accustomed food, 

 which she refused, flying off a short distance, but returning quickly and 

 perching near her nest. I again tried her with the crumbs, which she then 

 took from my finger, just as she had done many times before. 



This last act of hers, especially, touched me; it showed such fearless 

 confidence. I experienced a feeling of great relief in believing that she, in 

 no wise, connected me with the ruin of her home. 



TOWHEE AND YOUNG 

 Photographed from nature by R. H. Beebe, Arcade, N. Y, 



