The Black-billed Cuckoo at Home 133 
After a while, the sitting bird deliberately called a few times from the nest— 
a few of the usual kuk-kuk notes. A few minutes still later, she bent her head 
under her breast, as if examining the nest contents under her, or, as I thought, 
looking to the egg she had just laid; next she hopped to one of the shoots 
beside the nest, then flew to a nearby tree. How eagerly I went forward, only 
to behold the two callow young, no eggs. It was early morning, somewhat 
cold and misty; the old bird had simply been brooding her bantlings. 
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NEST AND TWO YOUNG OF BLACK-BILLED CUCKOO 
Well, she had called while sitting on her nest, that was something! As usual, 
she was alone during most of my stay;—about two hours on this occasion. 
As usual, too, she moved from tree to tree, hunting caterpillars, frequently 
calling, occasionally dressing her feathers, and often sitting on one perch for 
a minute or two at a time; but her head was seldom at rest for more than 
a few full seconds at a time and, in consequence, the caterpillars fared ill. 
Now it was some little chap near the thorny trunk of a locust, and now a big 
brown fellow discovered on a topmost twig. With one of these brown worms 
held near the end of her bill, she once spent several minutes within some ten 
feet of her nest, apparently intent on feeding the young, but there was no 
hint of the anxious, nervous fidgeting of a bird driven to approach her nest 
