THE TRUE STORY OF A BROWN THRUSH. 



One June a pair of Brown Thrushes 

 adopted me as a neighbor by setting up 

 their domicile about ten feet from my 

 doorstep. They chose for the purpose 

 a bushy bois d'arc which, as with others 

 in the grounds, had been let to take 

 nature's way in shaping itself. Through 

 a window, before which I spent much 

 time, this bird-home was in plain sight, 

 and from the first coming of the pair I 

 gave them close and interested attention. 



So, also, did a large, grey house cat 

 given to sunning herself daily upon the 

 sill of a door opening in the direction of 

 the bois d'arc. However, the character 

 of the tree set my mind at rest in regard 

 to the nest, as no enemy could afford to 

 try the intricacy of its thorny defenses. 



After a while five spotted eggs hid the 

 bottom of the nest, and in due time five 

 clamorous babies filled it to the top. 

 This was a time of constant purveyance 

 for both birds. But the supply was 

 plentiful and near at bill that year, and 

 their expeditions after food did not often 

 take the pair out of range of sight. A 

 moist condition of earth and air daily 

 brought up earthworms from between 

 the mould-filled gaps in a brick pave- 

 ment. These Madame Thrush chose as 

 dainty morsels, and through this was 

 wrought her undoing. One morning the 

 grey cat feigned sleep, hidden behind the 

 rise of the verandah step. From the 

 other side, unseeing, came Madame with 

 her usual brisk and graceful hop. A fat 

 earthworm wriggled close to the step. 

 The combination resulted in a tragedy. 

 I sprang up and literally plunged to her 

 rescue, but was too late. When I pulled 

 her, ruffled and limp, from the jaws of 

 the hotly-pursued cat she was quite dead. 



This ill-befallment left the father un- 

 aided in the duties of rearing his most 

 voracious family, so that he was kept 

 busy early and late. Once the double 

 duties of a rainy day quite tore him 



asunder, divided as he was between a 

 wish to cover his brood and their urgent 

 need for their meals. However, he left 

 the nest to the mercy of the all-day rain 

 and heroically, and in a most bedraggled 

 state, kept himself to the work of pro- 

 visioning his house until an early bed- 

 time settled the nest for the night. 



From the first one of the nestlings 

 was larger than his fellows, and time 

 showed him to be greedier and more 

 vociferous as well. His was the head 

 always lifted highest over the edge of the 

 nest, and his widely-opened, yellow- 

 rimmed mouth secured him the largest 

 share of everything brought to the home. 

 One day, to the pathetic distress of the 

 old bird, his usual upreach was high 

 enough to bring him upon a thorn grow- 

 ing from the limb against which the nest 

 was built. Caught through the loose skin 

 of his neck he hung, closing the clutch 

 of the thorn by ineffectual flouncings 

 about, and when a hand was put upon 

 the baby in order to lift it down the 

 alarm and disturbance of pater familias 

 was so great that he flew upon the head 

 of the deliverer and executed thereupon 

 a series of pecks so vigorous that blood 

 was shed. But that he fully appreciated 

 the favor done him, when understood, 

 was afterwards proven. 



One morning, about ten days after the 

 incident, I was seated far inside the 

 room, out of sight from the nest, and 

 absorbed in the contents of a new maga- 

 zine. After a time I began to be dimly 

 aware of the flutter of wings mingling 

 itself with the subject matter of the page, 

 and upon looking up saw the Thrush 

 upon the railing of the verandah. He 

 had placed himself where a look through 

 the open door could not fail of seeing 

 him. As soon as he knew that he was 

 observed he shifted to the lowest limb 

 of an overhanging apple tree. Perching 

 there, with a ceaseless nervous jerk of 



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