NATURE LEAVES 
flew from their plumage as they jumped up, as if 
they had been earthing their wings. 
My next adventure was with a young but fully 
grown bluebird, which crawled and fluttered away 
from my feet as I came upon it in the open. It 
could not fly, and I easily picked it up. Its plumage 
showed the mingled blue and speckled brown of the 
immature bird. I looked it over, but could see no 
mark or sign of injury to wing or body. Its plum- 
age was unrufiled and its eye bright, but its move- 
ments were feeble. Was it ill or starved? I could not 
tell which, probably the latter. It may have got 
lost from the brood and was not yet able to forage 
for itself. I left it under the edge of a rock, where 
the fresh blue of the ends of its wings and tail held 
my eye a moment as I turned to go. 
Farther along, under some shelving rocks, I came 
upon two empty phoebes’ nests — a relic of bird-life 
that always gives a touch to the rocks that I delight 
in. I find none of these nests placed lower than 
three feet from the ground, and always in places 
that seem to be carefully chosen with reference to 
enemies that can reach and climb. 
Two or three woodchucks, which I bagged with 
my eye, completed my afternoon’s adventures. 
Ill. IN SOUTHERN CALIFORNIA 
In southern California the seasons all go hand in 
hand, and dance around one like a ring of girls, first 
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