72 THE CITY OF THE BIRDS. 



visits near the charmed spot during the critical 

 period, never disturbed her. Once I stopped 

 directly in front of her house and saw just a patch 

 of her yellowish olive-green wing through the 

 door, but who would have suspected that it was 

 a part of a living bird in that mass of dead leaves .-' 

 Not even the squirrel scampering along the 

 branches over her head knows it, nor have those 

 sharp-eyed, black oologists, the crows, that are 

 stalking about dangerously near, taken the hint. 

 Every day I trembled for her amidst so many per- 

 ils. When heavy showers descended and beat 

 upon the leafy dome, I thought of her steadfast- 

 ness and sublime devotion. News soon came from 

 the nursery that all but one of the little golden 

 crowns had strayed from the parental roof. One 

 child, however, seeing a loose end of a horse hair, 

 had, in his greediness, no doubt, mistaken it for a 

 worm, and in trying to swallow it, it had stuck 

 fast in his throat. The other end was so 

 strongly woven within the nest mass that it was 

 impossible for the little fellow to free himself. A 

 wonder, indeed, that the crows had not stolen a 

 march, and made mince-meat of him long ago. 

 What a fever of excitement the old birds were in, 

 as I drew near and saw the situation of affairs ! 

 They threw themselves at my feet and trailed 

 their wings and snapped their bills, and uttered 

 such loud cries of distress that they brought every 



