116 
WILD SCENES AND SONG-BIEDS. 
hours together, and we observed that at these times they darted 
straight up into the air until they were out of sight before 
they took their course, so that watch as we might we never 
could find out which way they went. They also adopted 
the same precaution in returning, when they seemed to fall 
perpendicularly from the clouds. They did not appear any 
the less tame for all this — ^but, though I tried in every pos- 
sible way to find out their secret, yet they entirely baffled 
me, and I am not sure that I ever saw their brood even — 
though about the time when they ought to have been out 
we used to notice more birds than we could well account for 
around the white cup in the cage ; yet, as those strangers ap- 
peared to be somewhat shy, we did not press an acquaint- 
ance. It was nothing more than a conjecture on our part, 
that these were the new brood of our pets ! 
But I am getting a little ahead of my story in events. 1 
have mentioned that we had vowed to have a nest of ruby- 
throats added to our collection this Spring, and in giving a 
detail of the manner in which I went to work for the accom- 
plishment of this vow I shall furnish you some idea of the 
tedious processes of the practical naturalist. 
My father had some men at work " getting out logs" — as 
it is called — on a considerable creek some two miles olf. 
One of them, who knew of my passion for these birds, men- 
tioned to me, that he had twice, while watering his horse at 
a certain crossing in the woods, observed a humming bird 
fly past over the middle of the channel and up the stream. 
This, he said, was aboiit five o'clock, both times. This was 
enough for me. I ordered my horse, and in a few moments 
was under whip and spur — for it was nearly that time now — 
for this little ford. I reached it a few minutes before five by 
a bridle path. I sat upon my horse until dusk in the middle 
of the stream, but no humming bird. Next day I came at 
noon — staid an hour with no avail. I went at four again 
and staid until half-past five, but still no bird. I was not 
discouraged, but as I rode slowly home, determined to change 
