his own happy heart as pure and sweet a song 

 as the very angels know. 



Solitary disappeared from that day. I con- 

 cluded he had gone to heavier, wilder woods to 

 nest. It was late in June that, passing through 

 this brush-land, I saw hanging from an oak sap- 

 ling, just above my head, a soft, yellowish basket. 

 It was a vireo's nest ; but it was too large, too 

 downy, too yellow for Eed-eye. There were no 

 bunches of white spider-webs upon it, such as 

 Red-eye hangs all over his nest. I stepped aside 

 for a better view, and had just caught the glint 

 of a large, white-ringed eye peering over the 

 nest's edge at me, when, off in the woods behind 

 me, the noon hush was startled by Solitary's 

 whistle— a round, pure, pearly note that broke 

 the quiet as pearly teeth break through the smile 

 of a beautiful face.. He soon appeared, coming 

 on, a tree at a time, looking and asking, in no 

 hurry and in no alarm. When he reached the 

 pine overhead, his mate left the nest to confer 

 with him. They scolded me mildly while I 

 climbed for a look at the four delicately spotted 

 eggs ; but as soon as I lay down upon the ground, 

 the mother, without fuss or fear, slipped into the 

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