THE OPEN WINDOW 



away. How long they had been taking turns, whether 

 mate or child, I could not tell. 



One morning in mid-August a greedy young bird 

 followed his parent to the sill with insistent cries and 

 was given fifteen seeds before leaving. In two hours 

 the couple returned for more food. It was a charming 

 picture; the eager nestling with fluttering wings, the 

 careful mother turning her head on one side as she 

 inserted the seed within that open beak; against cool 

 greens beyond their fawn-colored feathers appeared 

 more vivid. The swallowing of food did not seem to 

 interfere at all with the vocal chords of my young song 

 sparrow, but his notes gradually became less harsh as 

 his appetite decreased until at the last just before he 

 flew they were little more than murmurs of satisfaction. 

 Her duty done, the hungry mother came back to the 

 sill alone and ate one hundred and thirty-one seeds with- 

 out stopping; then took some fine gravel, a drop or two 

 of water and finished with a desert of sixty-one more 

 seeds! One could almost see her form expand as she 



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