FAR AND NEAR 



report only moss or moist stones, — no nest there. 

 I peer long and long. The httle pool of limpid water 

 keeps me five or six feet away. 



Well, there must be some unseen hole or cavity 

 in there which leads to the nest beyond the reach of 

 the eye. But I will watch again and be sure. So I 

 retreat to the bank, and the same httle comedy or 

 drama is played as before. 



At last I am positive I can put my hand upon the 

 nest. I procure a fragment of a board, bridge over 

 the little pool, thrust my head into the dim light of 

 the cavity, and closely scan every inch of the surface. 

 No nest, says the eye. Then I will try another sense; 

 I will feel with my hand. 



Slowly my hand explores the place; presently it 

 touches something soft and warm at the very spot 

 where I had seen the birds pause. It is the backs 

 of the young birds ; they have flattened themselves 

 down until their beaks are on a level with the top of 

 the nest. They have baffled the eye because, in the 

 scant light, they blend perfectly with their surround- 

 ings and just fill the depression of the nest. The 

 hand, going behind form and color, finds them out. 

 I felt that I had penetrated one of the prettiest 

 secrets in all the woods, and got a new glimpse of 

 the art and cunning of a bird. 



The young were between down and feather, of a 

 grayish slate color, and they played their part well. 

 At my approach they would settle down in the nest 

 196 



