The Bay of the Band 
tering wing. The swamp along whose margin the 
birds were building had not a joyous atmosphere. 
Damp, dim-shadowed, and secret, it seemed to have 
laid its spell upon the birds. Their very gray and 
black was as if mixed of the dusk, and of the gray, 
half-light of the swamp; their noiseless coming and 
going was like the slipping to and fro of shadows. 
They were a part of it all, and that sharing was their 
defense, the best defense they knew. 
It didn’t save their nest, however. They felt and 
obeyed the spirit of the swamp in their own conduct, 
but the swamp did not tell them where to build. It 
was about three weeks later that I stopped again 
under the pine and found the birch stub in pieces 
upon the ground. Some robber had been after the 
eggs and had brought the whole house tumbling down. 
This is not the fate of all such birch-bark houses. 
Now and again they escape; but it is always a mat- 
ter for wonder. 
I was following an old disused wood road once when 
I scared a robin from her nest. Her mate joined her, 
and together they raised a great hubbub. Immedi- 
ately a chewink, a pair of vireos, and two black and 
white warblers joined the robins in their din. Thena 
86 
