FIELD AND STUDY 



The discovery of a bird's nest is usually so much 

 a matter of chance that I always consider myself in 

 luck when I find one. One morning in a little open- 

 ing which the woodchoppers had made in the beech 

 woods, I stumbled upon a junco's nest. It was in a 

 mossy bank near a pile of cordwood. The mother 

 bird flew out from the little cavity in which the nest 

 was placed, when I was about a yard from her. 

 After that, in my walk, I found my steps very often 

 taking that course. In some way I felt myself re- 

 sponsible for that nest. I wanted to see it through. 

 Then a bit of still wild life in the great unkempt, 

 haphazard out-of-doors, exposed to so many dan- 

 gers both by night and by day, so frail and so en- 

 gaging, one of the most pleasing open secrets in all 

 the woods and fields, drew me by a magic all its own. 

 A large herd of dairy cows browsed and trailed 

 through these woods and I wondered if the little 

 nest could long escape their hoofs. The night prowl- 

 ers, too, — the skunks, foxes, coons, cats, — would 

 they all pass it by? I used to linger about it. I could 

 see the bird's white beak and her black, shining 

 eyes there in the small cavity, partly screened by 

 vines and wild, woodsy growths. The spot seemed a 

 little different from all others. I laid some poles and 

 brush carelessly about to ward off the cows. One 

 hot morning I sat a long time on a rock near by, 

 partly to enjoy the cool breeze and partly to be near 

 the junco. I occasionally saw the male hanging 

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