112 WAKE-ROBIN 
fledged, was placed upon the ground, at the foot 
of the stump, and in such a position that the color 
of the young harmonized perfectly with the bits of 
bark, sticks, etc., lying about. My eye rested upon 
them for the second time before I made them out. 
They hugged the nest very closely, but as I put 
down my hand they all scampered off with loud 
cries for help, which caused the parent birds to 
place themselves almost within my reach. The 
nest was merely a little dry grass arranged in a 
thick bed of dry leaves. 
This was amid a thick undergrowth. Moving on 
into a passage of large stately hemlocks, with only 
here and there a small beech or maple rising up 
into the perennial twilight, I paused to make out 
a note which was entirely new to me. It is still 
in my ear. Though unmistakably a bird note, it 
yet suggested the bleating of a tiny lambkin. 
Presently the birds appeared, —a pair of the soli- 
tary vireo. They came flitting from point to point, 
alighting only for a moment at a time, the male 
silent, but the female uttering this strange, tender 
note. It was a rendering into some new sylvan 
dialect of the human sentiment of maidenly love. 
It was really pathetic in its sweetness and childlike 
confidence and joy. JI soon discovered that the 
pair were building a nest upon a low branch a few 
yards from me. The male flew cautiously to the 
spot and adjusted something, and the twain moved 
on, the female calling to her mate at intervals, 
love-e, love-e, with a cadence and tenderness in the 
