The Birds and Poets 97 



"And still, along the reaches of the stream, 

 The vain Kingfisher flits, an azure gleam, — 

 You see his ruby crest, you hear his 

 jealous scream." 



In my boyhood days I doubt not I would have 

 dug into the hole for the purpose of making sure of 

 its contents, but the scientific exigency must be 

 strong and compelling indeed w^hich w^ould novv^ 

 induce me to disturb a bird's nest, its eggs or 

 young. I confess to a good deal of eager curiosity, 

 however, as to the interior of that hole in the bank. 



On the opposite side of the stream was a wide^ 

 sandy point jutting into the water, dotted here and 

 there with tufts of grass and clumps of daisies. I 

 was not expecting any signs of birds at this point, 

 and was still somewhat under the spell of the king- 

 fisher, when a sparrow sprang up apparently some 

 ten feet in advance of me, which I thought at first 

 glance was a vesper sparrow, because of its con- 

 spicuous white tail feathers. Still I did not suspect 

 there was a nest, because of the unpromising char- 

 acter of the ground, altho' the bird when flushed 

 acted as if she had just left her nest. I stopped and 

 looked at the bird with my field glass, but it got 

 beyond the range of my glass before I had time to 

 examine it carefully. I glanced down at a small 

 tuft of grass at my feet, and there between two 

 daisy stems was the bird's nest containing three 

 white eggs, scrawled with dark spots. I was now 

 convinced that it was not the vesper sparrow, 



