A DAY’S OUTING IN SEARCH OF THE ARBUTUS. 53 
At the upper end of the ravine whose banks we had 
been exploring, I stooped down to scrape away the dry 
leaves that covered a patch of Mitchella repens. A 
small olive backed bird fluttered almost from beneath 
my hand, and half running, half flying, but apparently 
badly hurt, succeeded in making me attempt to pick her 
up. When I had followed a few yards, she took wing 
and glided gracefully away. I then knew what I 
should have known at first, that the cunning bird was 
tolling me away from her nest. I went back and 
examined very carefully the place from which she had 
first appeared, but could find nothing. Marking the 
spot by tying together some twigs of a hemlock that 
overhung the place, I went away long enough for her 
to return. Approaching the place very cautiously, and 
keeping my eyes on the patch of Mitchella, I was within 
a step of the spot, when out again fluttered the bird 
with the same cunning tactics, this time, however, 
unsuccessful. I had no difficulty now in finding the 
nest, which was not only well hidden by some moss on 
a projecting root, but was dome-shaped and completely 
covered, with only an opening at the side large enough 
for the bird to enter and leave. It was the nest of the 
oven bird or golden-crowned thrush (Seiwrus awrocapil- 
dus), and contained five very pretty eggs, with ground- 
work almost white and spotted with brown. The nest 
and eggs closely resemble those of the Hudsonian spar- 
row. The mate for some time had been singing near 
by, and his loud military song, “I see, I see, I see,” had 
evidently been intended to prevent me from seeing 
