and always beyond the reach of rain or snow. The birds show wisdom, too, in 

 avoiding the established paths of falling rocks or melting snows. The Leucos 

 themselves are fully alive to the dangers of avalanches and there is an uneasy 

 movement, or a sudden taking to wing, whenever a rock fragment "lets go" in 

 their neighborhood. 



Some of the nests are drab-looking affairs, especially where weathered 

 grasses are the only materials obtainable. Some, however, are wonderfully 

 compacted of mosses, and are lined with feathers or other soft substances. An 

 example in the M. C. 0. collections has a black flight feather of the Clark Nut- 

 cracker set at a rakish angle in its brim. Another boasts a Rock Wren's plume, 

 and has a lining of cotton, feathers, and human hair. The nests are, naturally, 

 of the sturdiest construction, with walls from one to three inches in thickness, 

 and with hollows deeply cupped. By reason, therefore, of their substantial 

 character, as well as their protected situation, old Leucos' nests will reward patient 

 search in almost any part of our higher peaks. 



Eggs of the Leuco are of the purest white, unmarked. Their shape is 

 ovate, or elongate ovate, with an unusually sharp decrease in size toward the 

 little end. This shape is said to be characteristic, also, of the genus Montijringilla 

 of the Old World ; and the oological evidence goes to show that the two genera, 

 Leucosticte and Montijringilla, have a common origin. 



The pace of the Leuco day quickens when those white ovals part and 

 naked babies, to the number of four or five, are born into this world of snow-glare 

 and hunger. The parents, however, have capacious throats, or crops, and to 

 obviate the handicap of the long haul, comparatively infrequent visits are made 

 to the nest. I have seen parents making trips every five minutes, but ten — or 

 fifteen minute intervals are more usual, with half an hour, or such a matter, for 

 older birds. Food material rarely protrudes from the parental beak, but the 

 nature of the visit, whether parental or conjugal, may be surely determined by the 

 presence or absence of the foecal sac, the laden diaper, without which no self-re- 

 specting parent will quit the presence of his (or her) offspring. We should hesitate 

 to investigate this intimate matter, were it not for the cocky assurance and frank 

 delight with which the fond parent bears off this lowly emblem. He seems to 

 come like the bearer of good news and beams a cheerful "Family well" in response 

 to our courteous inquiry. As matter of fact, this arrangement for rigid sanitation 

 is one of the most marvelous and commendable features about a well-appointed 

 bird-home. The infantile economy operates with the precision of clock-work. 

 In goes a ration of insects, out comes the wastage of a previous feeding, all done 

 up in sanitary white wrappings. The parent seizes the bundle and carries it two 

 or three hundred feet away before dropping it. The nest and its vicinage are 

 kept immaculate, and the bird's arch enemy, the Clark Nutcracker, has no clew 

 from careless ordure, as to the presence of possible victims. 



The little ones are silent for a day or so, but as their strength increases they 

 greet the returning parent with an increasing uproar of satisfaction. The secret 

 is out, now, for such as will hear, but it is not until the day of first flight that the 

 outcry of the youngsters becomes incessant. Hearing that he was out, I pur- 

 sued the first-born of a certain brood with photographic intent. But the young- 

 ster was wary. He fluttered and chirped his way around the east wall, and then 

 when I headed him off, he spread his little wings and flew clear across the amphi- 

 theater, a distance of near a hundred yards. He made a successful landing on a 

 ledge, but afterwards he fell into the bergschrund, from which he was rescued, or 

 coaxed, by his anxious mamma. This youngster once out, cheeped without 

 intermission for at least eight hours. I timed him once, and he cheeped exactly 

 104 times in a minute. That's 49,920 cheeps in a union day! 



In complete contrast with this bantling's behavior was that of a baby 

 sister (?) whom I found sitting quietly on a rock-slide. When I approached she 

 said nothing, but started out bravely, and tumbled in the snow thirty feet away. 

 Distinctly bored by this show of bad form, she presently tried again; and I'm 

 blessed if she didn't rise on those little wings and make the west wall as valiantly 



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