86 BIRD STORIES FROM BURROUGHS 



then carried it back to the branch, where, how 

 ever, it would not stay. I saw her make six trialf 

 of it, when I was called away. I think she finally 

 abandoned the restless fragment, probably a scrap 

 that held some " breezy " piece of writing, for 

 later in the season I examined the nest and found 

 no paper in it. 



How completely the life of a bird revolves 

 about its nest, its home ! In the case of the wood 

 thrush, its life and joy seem to mount higher and 

 higher as the nest prospers. The male becomes a 

 fountain of melody ; his happiness waxes day by 

 day ; he makes little triumphal tours about the 

 neighborhood, and pours out his pride and glad- 

 ness in the ears of all. How sweet, how well-bred, 

 is his demonstration ! But let any accident befall 

 that precious nest, and what a sudden silence 

 falls upon him ! Last summer a pair of wood 

 thrushes built their nest within a few rods of 

 my house, and when the enterprise was fairly 

 launched and the mother bird was sitting upon 

 her four blue eggs, the male was in the height 

 of his song. How he poured forth his rich mel« 

 ody, never in the immediate vicinity of the nest, 

 but always within easy hearing distance I Every 

 morning, as promptly as the morning came, be- 

 tween five and six, he would sing for half an 

 hour from the top of a locust-tree that shaded 



