98 IN BIRD LAND. 



consulted. I make reference to it here for the first 

 time. I was strolling along the banks of a broad 

 river in northern Indiana on the first of June, when 

 a warm, steady rain set in. How the birds contrive 

 to keep their eggs and nestlings dry during a shower 

 had long been an enigma to me, and now was my 

 time to find out. Knowing where a summer warbler 

 had built her nest in some bushes, I cautiously ap- 

 proached, and then stood looking down on the bird 

 before me, which showed no disposition to leave her 

 progeny to the mercy of the elements. It was a 

 picture indeed ! The darling little mother — how 

 can one help using an endearing term ! — sat with 

 her wings and tail spread out gracefully over the rim 

 of the nest all the way round, thus making a perfect 

 umbrella of her lithe, dainty body. 



Nothing could differ more from the airy out-door 

 nest of the summer warbler than the dark subter- 

 ranean caverns of the swallows in the bank of the 

 creek. One day, while sauntering along a stream, I 

 noticed a hole in the opposite bank. I passed on, 

 but on second thought turned to look at the excava- 

 tion a little more closely, when a swallow darted like 

 an arrow into it, and in a few moments made as 

 quick an exit. Wading across the creek, I thrust 

 my walking-stick, which was almost four feet long, 

 into the orifice over its entire length without reach- 

 ing the end ! Why a bird, so neat in attire and so 

 agile on the wing, should build her nest in a dark 

 Erebus like that, is a Sphinx's riddle that must be 

 left to wiser heads to solve. 



