274 Bird -Lore 



that had been so soft all afternoon was wafting the chill from the far-off snow- 

 clad peaks. Something surely had happened to the mother. Never had she 

 neglected them before. 



I then tried to run away from the cries of the birds, as I had done before, 

 but I found myself listening anxiously — the farther away I got the more intently 

 I listened. At last I realized that I could not leave them so, and returned to 

 the nest and fed them again. But I earnestly hoped that the mother would 

 appear before feedimg-time again came round. How vain was that hope — 

 she had gone on her last errand of love ! 



Twilight was falling fast as I went into the rose-garden for flowers, and, 

 passing a climber that had fallen on one of my choice shrubs, I again attempted 

 what I had failed to accomplish that morning — to tie the rose up to the per- 

 gola. I had worked but a few moments when I found the explanation for the 

 neglect of the wee bird babies. There, entangled in the string, was the mother 

 bird, a sacrifice to mother love ! She had come to the sweet-flowering shrub to 

 get nectar for her precious little ones, her buzzing wings had tangled in the 

 string, and her little body was cold and rigid. 



Just at dusk I loosed the moorings of the small but beautifully made nest 

 on the porch, and took the little ones into my home. But just what to do with 

 them was perplexing. I sought my books and turned to the chapter on Oregon 

 birds. But it told me nothing of the fine art of mothering such delicately organ- 

 ized life. 



At length, left to my own initiative, after feeding, I placed them in the nest 

 on the mantle in the study, and covered them with softest cotton. There they 

 would be safe, if they lived — but would they live? 



Very early the next morning I hastened to the nest, expecting to find two 

 lifeless forms. Carefully I lifted the cotton, and beheld two wide-open beaks 

 greeting me and sending in a hurry call for breakfast. 



This was the first order, and it was by no means the last. I cannot count the 

 many meals they had that day. They averaged one about every fifteen minutes 

 until darkness fell. The imperative way they had of announcing the lunch 

 period was not to be disregarded. And what appetites they had ! So greedy 

 were they that neither would wait for the other to be fed, so I was compelled 

 to take both of them in the palm of my hand and alternate the doses until 

 each was satisfied. 



But honey became an expensive diet, and someone suggested that brown 

 sugar was good enough "for those ugly bugs." So I tried sugar and water, and, 

 to my surprise, they liked it better than honey. 



As the weeks passed, the meals became less frequent but greater quantities 

 were required. The birds began to develop rapidly, and the little nest soon 

 became too small. Then I gave them a new homp — a shoe-box filled with 

 cotton — and they were as happy in their new quarters as birds could be. 



By this time they began to be very interesting. They would stretch their 



