The Veery 271 



On June 18, 1914, 1 found myself in a good Veery country along the western 

 shore of Lake Champlain. The constant singing of these Thrushes, especially 

 in the early morning and late afternoon and evening, awakened a strong desire 

 to learn more of the private life of these particular birds. Just as you always 

 feel that you know a man better after having seen his home, so do you 

 feel on much more intimate terms with a wild bird after having looked upon 

 the cradle it has built for its young. We were in the midst of the woods and 

 Veeries sang on every side. So I started gaily forth to hunt a nest, but the day 

 ended in failure, as also did the next and the next. In desperation I wrote to a 

 very wise gentleman of my acquaintance and asked him how in the world I 

 was to find a Veery's nest. 



"It is a simple matter," he wrote, "if you will keep your eyes open. The 

 nest is always on the ground or very near it. Look at the foot of trees or 

 stumps, especially in growths of young sprouts, on logs or stumps, in thick 

 places, or among plants on a steep hillside. Search only in the woods and 

 especially where it is damp." 



I read this and found that I knew just exactly as much as I did before, for 

 I had seen all this in bird-books over and over again. So I thanked him for 

 his kindness and went out into the woods once more. For two or three hours 

 every day for two weeks the search went on, and not the slightest sign of a nest 

 could I find. Yet the Veeries had nests, or had had nests, for during this time 

 I came upon no less than fourteen young, as yet scarcely able to fly. All were 

 perched in the bushes a few feet from the ground, and usually one or both of the 

 parents at once discovered me. 



This recalled Miss Florence Merriam's saying in her 'Birds of Village and 

 Field,' that the Veery is a peculiarly companionable bird to those who live 

 near its haunts. "It will become so tame," she tells us, "as to nest close to a 

 house if not disturbed, and when sought in its natural woodland home will 

 meet your friendly advances with confidence, answering your whistle with its 

 own sweet wavering whee-u, till you feel that the woods hold gentle friends to 

 whom you will gladly return." 



The next summer found me again in these woods, prying into every thicket 

 and clump of sprouts where a Veery might hide, and then at eight o'clock on 

 the morning of June 19 I came upon a bird sitting on her nest. With the great- 

 est caution I withdrew, only to go again the next day, and the day following, 

 hoping to find her away. On the fourth trip, when I peeped into the hiding- 

 place, I found her gone. Drawing the bushes aside, I advanced and looked 

 into the nest. It was empty. On the ground I found three eggs. They 

 were deep blue, unspotted, and resembled the eggs of a Catbird, but were 

 smaller. Every one had a large section of the shell cut away and there was 

 no sign of its contents. Surely the red squirrel I had frequently seen near by 

 had wrought this mischief — at least, in my disappointment, I laid the blame 

 at his door. 



