ig8 i^ BIRD LAND. 



be made. I have watched a kingfisher flying again 

 and again from a winding creek in the valley to her 

 nest on a hillside nearly a half-mile distant, with a 

 minnow in her bill, while the sun was pouring a 

 sweltering deluge upon the fields. It kept her busy 

 every moment to supply the imperious demands of 

 her hungry brood in the bank. A common field- 

 bird, which I watched one day for a long while, 

 would often return to her nest every minute with an 

 insect. Many, many times have I obeyed Lowell's 

 injunction, — 



" Come up and feel what health there is 

 In the frank Dawn's delighted eyes, 

 As. bending with a pitying kiss, 



The night-shed tears of Earth she dries." 



But even at that early hour the feathered toilers 

 have always been ahead of the human wage-workers 

 in beginning the labors of the day. The nestlings 

 must have a twilight breakfast; and then, in the 

 evening, as long as the gloaming lasts, they noisily 

 demand just one more mouthful for supper. 



Young birds are ravenous feeders. They seem 

 to live to eat, and have no thought of eating to live. 

 For an hour and a half, one August day, I kept 

 watch of a nestful of bantlings, and during that 

 time the parent birds were so shy that they fed 

 their infants only twice. At last the little things 

 became fairly desperate for food, springing up in 

 the nest and opening their mouths with pitiful cries 

 every time the breeze stirred the bushes about them. 



