A DAY IN AN OLD ORCHARD. 137 
for she returned in a few minutes after we left the tree. 
The five or six white eggs were as smooth as alabaster, 
resembling fine china, and were in keeping with the 
beauty of these elegant birds. . 
Not a rod from the front door of the cottage, and 
near the curbed well, I accidentally found a nest full of 
young song sparrows just ready to fly. As I stooped 
down to look at them, three of the five scampered out 
under the lilac bushes. It is marvelous that this nest 
has escaped the cats that are so often prowling about 
the yard in search of just such tid-bits. 
A low, thick thorn bush, surrounded by sweet elder 
bushes, and overrun with vines, holds the gem of the 
orchard. A cat-bird had so concealed her nest that I 
did not see it until the bird fluttered out, almost within 
reach of my hand. She flew only a few feet away, 
when the mate, attracted by the disturbance, came still 
nearer and commenced warbling in the most friendly 
manner, as if to coax me away from the place. Neither 
bird uuttered its usual notes of complaint, but one 
watched anxiously and the other continued his songs 
with many changes of tunes and attitudes, apparently 
utterly unconscious that there was any disturbance or 
danger menacing them. In the nest were four blue- 
green eggs; not the green of the plants, nor the blue of 
the sky, but more like a certain deep color of the sea. 
The fields of nature hold not another such gem as the 
egg of this thrush; of such exquisite material, so per- 
fect in form, being only “lines of beauty,” and a color 
matchless and indescribable. And then, such a germ 
