58 HIGHWAYS AND BYWAYS. 
ning in the use of a whip, struck one of these birds, 
when it came in to feed the young, and killed it. The 
other three continued the care of the two broods of 
young birds until they were able to take care of them- 
selves; but they may have taken warning by such a 
brutal breach of confidence and concluded to go else- 
where hereafter. They will have at least one old friend 
who will continue to look for their return, and take note 
of the outcome. 
Last year a pair of chipping birds had a nest in the 
woodbine on the piazza, the east side of the hotel. It 
had been a pleasure to sit under the vine and watch 
the old birds feed the young. I had been with them 
so much that they paid little more attention to my 
presence than they did to the old apple tree that stood 
so near them. I could hardly expect them again this 
year, as the perils of migration prevent the return of 
the larger half of the birds that went south in the fall; 
but on going to look, I found them building a nest in 
the same place that they used last year. I think they 
recognized me as an old acquaintance, for they came 
with material and arranged it several times while I 
stood close by watching them. 
The woodbine on the veranda of the summer cottage, 
not yet occupied, contained two robins’ nests, one with 
three and the other four eggs. Nothing is prettier than 
these bluish green eggs with their future possibilities. 
One would be glad to know that they will remain 
unmolested until the metamorphosis that will make 
glad the heart of the mother birds. 
