stopped and watched— I liad never found a 

 winter wren's nest. In a moment the missing bird 

 appeared and revealed the nest. It was large for 

 the size of the builders, made of sticks, grass, and 

 feathers, and was fixed among the black roots just 

 below the green hilltop, and set into the sand far 

 enough to leave a li1;;tle of one side exposed. 



The wrens hurried away on my approach; 

 but when I retreated to the foot of the bank, 

 they darted back to the nest, the hen entering 

 without a pause, while the cock perched upon a 

 root at the door and began a most extraordinary 

 performance. 



He managed to put himself directly between 

 me and the tiny portal, completely cutting off 

 my view of the little brown wife inside the nest ; 

 then, spreading his wings, with tail up and head 

 on one side, he fluttered and bobbed and wagged 

 and poured out a volume of song that was pro- 

 digious. It lifted him fairly off his feet. Had 

 he suddenly gone up with a whizz, like a sky- 

 rocket, and burst into a shower of bubbles, trills, 

 runs, and wild, ecstatic warbles, I should have 

 looked on with no more wonder. Such a song ! 

 It was singing gone mad. 

 [197] 



