A HAY-BARN IDYL 



for two or three days, when, one morning, I discover 

 that the nest holds two eggs. Two days later it 

 holds four, and the next day incubation has evi- 

 dently begun. As she sits in the shadow of her little 

 cavity in the mow, only her light-colored beak shows 

 me when she is on her nest. A heavy rope is stretched 

 low across the barn floor, and it is a pretty sight to 

 see her approach the hay -mow along this rope, hop- 

 ping nervously along, showing the white quills in 

 her tail, and wiping her beak over and over on the 

 rope as she progresses. I think the beak- wiping, now 

 on this side, now on that, is just another expression 

 of her nervousness, or else of preoccupation, for 

 surely her beak is clean. She gives no heed either to 

 the swallows or to the phoebes, nor they to her. Well, 

 she is fairly launched on her little voyage of mater- 

 nity, and I shall do all I can to see that her venture 

 is successful. 



A week later, alas ! it turned out to be the old story 

 of the best-laid schemes of mice and men. Some 

 serious mishap befell my little neighbor. One day 

 she was missing from her nest from morning till 

 night. The following morning her eggs were stone 

 cold, and the male bird was flitting about the bam 

 and running along the beams as I entered, no doubt 

 in an anxious state of mind about his mate. I could 

 give him no clue to her whereabouts, and her fate 

 is a mystery — whether captured, by a hawk or a 

 cat, while out in quest of food, I shall never know. 

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