appearance of the bird change,d like a 

 flash. The snake dropped unnoticed to 

 the ground, where, though its spine was 

 broken, it squirmed as though ahve. 

 The bird crouched low on its perch, as 

 a cat does before it springs; its glossy 

 coat ruffled and its yellow eyes glaring 

 defiance. It flew directly toward my 

 head and brought its wings together 

 just above me with a snap that made 

 me dodge. Several times it wheeled 

 .and snapped above me, so quickly that 

 I could not turn my head rapidly 

 enough to follow its movements. The 

 last time it bumped into a bough almost 

 touching my shoulder, and its black- 

 tipped yellow talons came much too 

 near my face for comfort. Then for a 

 while it circled madly about, now and 

 then swooping idown toward me but 

 never coming very near. Soon it was 

 joined by its mate, which had been in 

 the dense treetops nearby all the while, 

 and gradually they circled off into the 

 clear blue sky, farther and farther away 

 until their voices died in the distance. 

 And as they circled away, sick at heart 

 though they must have been, no majesty 

 was lacking in those broad, even 

 sweeps, and one would never surmise 

 that they left, for aught they knew, all 

 hope behind. 



When they were gone I ascended the 

 tree somewhat above the nest and took 

 some pictures. When about to expose 

 the last plate, and when I was just 

 steadying the camera for the picture, a 

 crow's shadow skimmed past like a 

 shot and I instinctively dodged it, 

 thinking, in the short time I had to 

 think, that the hawks ha,d returned. 

 My hand involuntarily pressed the bulb, 

 upon which it was already tightening, 

 and the result was a photo of just half 

 of the nest, so nearly half, indeed, that 

 it shows but one egg, and the eggs were 

 touching each other, too. 



When my plates were all exposed, I 

 hung the camera up and began to look 

 about me. It seemed as though I were 

 in another world, high up in the wavy, 

 leafy treetops. All was peace and quiet. 

 Far away, like a dim picture, the distant 

 river and meadows basked in the soft 

 sunlight, and here and there in the 

 deepest hollows, patches of snow were 

 visible. In the wood below I could 



hear every sound with a distinctiveness 

 that surprised me, and I understood, as 

 I listened, how the hawks with their 

 more g.cute senses of hearing, had so 

 soon become aware of my presence at 

 all times. A warbler calHng in the 

 thicket below, or a chipmonk scamper- 

 ing over the dry leaves could be heard 

 with the greatest clearness, and as I 

 heard them I realized their disadvan- 

 tage when stalked by an enemy from 

 on high. 



The breeze swayed the lofty tree 

 gently and imparted to it a dreamy, 

 restful motion, and I surmise that the 

 quiet joy of bursting spring set" me to 

 thinking. Here beside me was the 

 home of a bandit, a highwayman whose 

 very appearance lent terror, and yet 

 it was peaceful and happy. Whatever 

 the owners' lives were abroad, they 

 were quiet and loving at home. How- 

 ever merciless and cruel the hawks 

 were when hunting, they had a home 

 that for quietness and beauty all of us 

 might envy. The sun and wind played 

 on it as quietly as they ever would on 

 the yellow-throat's nest in the thicket 

 below, yet in one it caressed a family of 

 marauders; in the other, the type of 

 gentleness. And so it seems that one's 

 home, hke his life, is what he makes it. 

 The same love that lived in the yellow- 

 throat's breast and nursed her wee eggs 

 into Hfe, soothed the fiery spirit and 

 cruel nature of these unquiet warriors 

 and made their home an ideal of devo- 

 tion and happiness. 



Before descending the tree, I dropped 

 a weighted line to the ground to ascer- 

 tain how high it was. It was just sixty- 

 five feet to where the eggs rested, and 

 the camera was, of course, considerably 

 above this. I intended to return to the 

 nest after the eggs were hatched and 

 get a picture of the young birds, but 

 business, that interrupter of pleasures, 

 hindered me and I was obliged to leave 

 home before I had another opportunity 

 of visiting the nest. I suppose it still 

 rests there in that massive hemlock as 

 peacefully as it did when I left it, that 

 morning when the crows were nesting 

 in the pines, and the warblers calling in 

 the thicket below, all the day long. 

 Wai.ter E. Burn ham. 



188 



