66 THE CITY OF THE BIRDS. 



passed along and eaten the luckless creeper out of 

 house and home. 



In the neighborhood, the presumable head of the 

 bereaved household is flying hither and thither, 

 perching on the boughs, lifting his head and open- 

 ing and shutting his slender mandibles, like the 

 movement of a pair of delicate scissors, as he cuts 

 the air with his sharp insect-like voice. Whether 

 this is meant as an imprecation, a cry of lamenta- 

 tion, or a song of hopefulness, I cannot say. It is 

 likely the mother-bird will set about at once to 

 prospect for another building site. How interest- 

 ing it would be to follow her various methods and 

 attitudes of investigation, her final decision in 

 choosing a locality and her way of making such a 

 dainty home. But there are so many things to 

 hide her when she is on private business, that one 

 can not expect to be entertained by such a delight- 

 ful peep-show. 



The fact that birds, when their nests have been 

 rifled, should immediately lay a new set of eggs, 

 strikes one as very curious. If all had gone well 

 with this creeper, more than a month would have 

 passed before the mother would think of raising 

 another family, or perhaps she would be content 

 with only one brood for the season. But no 

 sooner has the accident occurred when, by the will 

 of the mother, other imperfect ova are rapidly 

 developed and ready for deposition by the time a 



