92 ON THE BIRDS' HIGHWAY 



The four young kingbirds were sitting 

 side by side on the upper rail of a fence, 

 while one of their parents — I could not 

 tell whether father or mother — hovered 

 over the neighboring meadow in search of 

 some insect to fill their gaping yellow 

 throats, now poising over the yellow 

 patches of St. John's-wort, now flying 

 with rapid wing-beats to the toot of the 

 meadow, and disappearing among the 

 stems of some " cat-o '-nine-tails " that had 

 sprung up in the cellar of what was once 

 an exceedingly small cottage or else a 

 fisherman's hut. Perhaps you will think 

 it a queer place for " nine-tails," but the 

 bottom of the meadow was very spongy 

 from some underground spring. In a 

 moment the parent arose and flew to the 

 fence, greeted by the chattering cries of 

 the youngsters. In the end of its beak, 

 which was opened to its widest extent, 

 was held the orange-red fruit of the night- 

 shade. To its poisonous qualities, if it 

 has any, was not paid the slightest heed ; 

 but, alighting on the fence, the old bird 

 commenced beating it to pieces, and de- 

 livered it in portions to the crowding, 

 chattering young, who, without the slight- 



