BIRD’S-NESTING 113 
“No,” said I, “lawyers have to work for a liv- 
ing.” 
“There'll be blue-gray gnatcatchers and mocking- 
birds and Acadian flycatchers,” he tried again. 
“No,”’ said I. 
“T’ve found out where the prothonotary warbler 
lives,” he said once more. 
“No,” said I. 
*“We may find its nest,” he continued. “‘No one 
up here has seen one for years.” 
“No,” said I firmly. “What time does the train 
start?” 
Sunset found me Somewhere in Maryland. I was 
squeezed into a buggy built for one, along with the 
Miller, at whose house we were intending to stop, 
and the Banker, who is constructed on flowing, 
generous lines. We drove creakingly through miles 
and miles of blossoming peach orchards. At the 
Miller’s house we ate the worst supper that money 
could buy. The Miller’s wife had evidently been 
born a bad cook, and by careful practice had become 
worse. It was over at last, and the Banker and I 
retired to a room under the rafters which contained 
one window and a mountainous bed. The rest of the 
space was taken up by mosquitoes. I undressed, 
jumped into the bed, and sank out of sight. The 
Banker located me by my mufiled cries for help, and 
pulled me to the surface just in time to save my life. 
Thereafter we molded a conical crater in that feather- 
bed and carefully fitted ourselves in, leaving a large 
air-hole at the top. 
