A Mocking Bird's June 203 



Sparrows, Blue Jays and our ever watchful little Wood Pewee, joined in the 

 chase, and, raised such a clamor that the cat stopped and looked up, but find- 

 ing none of them in his reach, moved leisurely on. 



On June 12 the female began to sit. The male did not assist her in the incu- 

 bation, and was not often near the nest. Once I saw him watching on the fence- 

 post while she was away, but when she returned and entered the nest he flew 

 off to the telegraph wire and renewed his song. He now abandoned himself 

 to his art. He frequently shifted his position from one elevated perch to another, 

 such as the comb of the barn, the telegraph wire, the tops of isolated maples, 

 and, occasionally, the fence, making a wide circuit from the nest, but keeping 

 it constantly in view. While his song may have been inspired by the poetic 

 purpose of cheering his sitting mate, I am sure he did not lose sight 

 of the practical effect it might have in alluring his enemies away from her nesting 

 place. 



After an incubation of ten days, the young Mockers were hatched on the 2 2d. 

 The father then ceased his song; he was too busy to sing; he joined actively 

 with the mother in feeding the young. And how happy they were! I watched 

 their first rejoicings with the greatest interest. How he petted and praised her ! 

 In return she showed him the little pledges of their love. Preceding him to the 

 nest, she hovered over the little fellows, and glided lightly and noiselessly out. 

 Then he entered, remained but a moment, and rejoined her on the fence. Now 

 they dropped from the top plank of the fence to the next lower, and the third; 

 and glided in and out among the lower branches of the small cedar that con- 

 tained their nest. 



Under the active ministrations of the parent birds, the young Mockers grew 

 bravely until they were five days old. The succeeding night, the moon 

 being at its full, was bright and luminous almost as the day. In the stillness of 

 the night — I do not know the hour — the old gray cat left her kittens under the 

 cabin and prowled out in the moonlight to see what she could find. She passed 

 through the woodlawn into the meadow. By some unhappy instinct or accident, 

 she found her way to the little cedar by the fence . Her feet were wet with dew. 

 She crossed back through the fence into the dusty road, and stopped directly 

 under the nest. How she knew it was there I cannot guess, unless the black 

 cat told her. At any rate she suspected the truth. She leaped to the second plank 

 from the bottom of the fence; the sharp claws of her front feet caught in the upper 

 edge of the plank, and the dew-wet dust left the full round mark of her hind 

 feet just under them on the side of the plank. At this moment the anxiety and 

 alarm of the devoted mother must have been intense. But her suspense was 

 short. The cat mounted straight up; the fence shows her claws on the upper 

 edge, and her feet on the side of the third and of the top plank. The mother still 

 covers her young. The cat now makes her spring. She was but twelve inches 

 from the nest and might have crept to it, but the gray fur left on the cedar twigs 

 show the suddenness and violence of her movement. There was no possible 



