HIDDEN TREASURE 95 
bird whose name-note was phcebe. Just within the 
doorway, on an oak beam, I found her new-finished 
nest of fresh, bright, green moss. 
All that morning I followed orchid-haunted paths 
through dim aisles of high pine trees without finding 
a nest. When I gave up hunting for them, they ap- 
peared. Toward noon I had put together a pocket 
rod and was wading down the bed of a little brook, 
to catch a few trout for lunch. In a little pool at 
the foot of a laurel bush, I landed a plump jeweled 
fish. I cast again, and my hook caught a low hang- 
ing branch. I gave the bough a shake, and from the 
foot of the bush a pale brown bird stole out. A 
moment later I was looking at my first veery’s nest. 
It seemed strange to meet face to face this dweller in 
the dark woods. Usually I had heard his weird harp- 
notes from the cool green depths of the thicket, but 
with never a glimpse of the singer. To-day he sat on 
a low branch within six feet, and I could plainly see 
the faintly marked breast and the white spot under 
the beak which are the field-marks of the veery, or 
Wilson’s thrush. Both birds flittered around me like 
ghosts, saying faintly, “Wheer! wheer! wheer!” 
The nest was built just off the ground and lined with 
brown leaves, and held four of the most vivid blue 
eggs owned by any of the bird-folk. The eggs of the 
cat-bird are of a deeper blue, but the strange vivid 
brightness of the veery’s eggs makes all other blue 
eggs look faded by contrast. 
All too soon my glorious week of treasure-hunting 
drew to a close. For the last day were reserved the 
