soon found her nest in one of the orchard trees. 

 It was not quite finished ; aad while the bird 

 was gone for more of the dandelion down, I 

 climbed up and seated myself within three feet 

 of the nest. 



Back came Mrs. Chebec with a swoop, but, 

 on seeing me, halted short of the nest. I was 

 motionless. Hopping cautiously toward the 

 nest, she took an anxious look inside ; finding 

 nothing disturbed, she concluded that there was 

 no evil in me, and so went on with her interest- 

 ing work. It was a pretty sight. In a quiet, 

 capable, womanly way she laid the lining in, 

 making the nest, in her infinite mother-love, fit 

 for eggs with shells of foam. 



The chebec is a finished architect. Better 

 builders are few indeed. The humming-bird is 

 slower, more painstaking, and excels Chebec in 

 outside finish. But Chebec's nest is so deep, so 

 soft, so round and hollow ! There is the loveli- 

 ness of pure curve in its walls. And small won- 

 der ! She bends them about the beautiful mold 

 of her own breast. Whenever she entered with 

 the dandelion cotton, she went round and round 

 these walls, before leaving, pressing them fondly 

 [142] 



