54 HIGHWAYS AND BYWAYS. 
what he and his mate had so prettily hidden. The bird 
was soon on her nest again, and I left her with sincere 
wishes for the safety of herself and her embryo-family. 
When not covered, the nest of the oven bird is often 
selected by the cow bunting in which to get its own 
little black brat incubated. The oven birds, like the 
summer warblers, are becoming wise in this matter, and 
many of them—not all—now roof over the nest, leav- 
ing the opening too small for the impostors to enter. 
In getting over a fence that separated the woods 
from a pasture lot, I was thrown to the ground by the 
breaking of a rail. A whirr of wings and a brown 
bird went with a complaining whistle into the deeper 
woods. The flutter of her wings fanned my face, so 
near were we together. It was a partridge that had 
kept her place until I was nearly upon her, and, as I 
expected, she had been scared from her nest by the 
accident. At the root of a large beech by the fence 
was the uncovered nest with sixteen beautiful, speckled 
eggs. It was a sight to thrill with pleasure the heart 
of one athirst for the wild in nature, and the effects of 
the mishap were at once forgotten in the enjoyment of 
the pretty picture. The hurried leave-taking of the 
mistress of these treasures had scattered the leaves and 
feathers about and over the eggs, and in sympathy for 
her in the disturbance, I hurridly left the place that 
she might soon return. Several times during the day I 
had heard the drumming of the male from a thicket of 
bushes and young saplings near by, and before leaving 
the woods I visited the old mossy log that had been the 
