38 THE FALL OF THE YEAR 



glad even now that I got out of the nest and 

 reached the ground. 



It must have been in the spring of my fourteenth 

 year when, at last, I found myself beneath the eagle 

 tree. It was a stark old white oak, almost limbless, 

 and standing out alone on the marsh some distance 

 from the swamp. The eagle's nest capped its very 

 top. 



The nest, I knew, must be big ; but not until I 

 had climbed up close under it did I realize that it 

 was the size of a small haystack. There was certainly 

 half a cord of wood in it. I think that it must orig- 

 inally have been built by fish hawks. 



Holding to the forking top upon which the nest 

 was placed, I reached out, but could not touch the 

 edge from any side. 



I had come determined to get up into it, however, 

 at any hazard ; and so I set to work. I never thought 

 of how I was to get down; nor had I dreamed, 

 either, of fearing the eagles. A bald eagle is a bully. 

 I would as soon have thought of fearing our hissing 

 old gander at home. 



As I could not get out to the edge of the nest 

 and scale the walls, the only possible way up, appar- 

 ently, was through the nest. The sticks here in the 

 bottom were old and quite rotten. Digging was easy, 

 and I soon had a good beginning. 



The structure was somewhat cone-shaped, the 

 smaller end down. It had grown in circumference as 



