The Nesting of the Blue Sugarbird. 227 
complete the nest, to her satisfaction, so I got a good ball 
of prepared cow-hair, and stufled it in the branches of the 
bush. This time it was the usual cup-shaped nest. She 
was most gi'ateful, and I have actually tucked in the straggling 
ends with her in the nest. On feeling me near she would 
twist round and give me a friendly little look as if to say 
" Hello! have you come to help " ? Then when I had clumsily 
tucked in parts to make it more snug and safe, she would 
get impatient, get on the nest and niould it with l)ody and 
wings. Finally horse-hair was given to her, and she wove 
this into a lining and did so until the chick was hatched. 
She spent hours weaving the i-ow-hair round the twigs. 
"What about her husband"? you ask, and well you may, for he 
was utterly lazy, and exactly corresponded to the golfing 
husbana in humans. The only thing he did to distinguish 
himself was to chivvy the other unfortunate cock, until, one 
morning. I picked up the latter quite dead. Thereafter the 
curse of Cain rested on the house of Blue Sugarbird. On .Tune 
2nd, to my joy, I found an egg in the nest. But what an 
egg for such a tiny mite to lay, and a very peculiar shape, 
too! About twice as long as it was broad — white with largish 
brown spots evenly at one end. But its size suggested at 
least a Pekin Robin. The next day the bird began to 
sit and continued to do so with the greatest patience and 
devotion. 
On June 4tli, while she came off for food and exercise, 
I noticed a second egg similar to, but not so mis-shapen as 
the first. The cock bird never, as far as I could make out, 
fed her on the nest, but would hang about the place and 
roosted in the vicinity. When she came off he would feed 
her at times on a fly or gnat "he had caught. Things went 
on in this way till June 11th, when I discovered one egg 
had gone — the mis-shapen one. However, on June 13th, 
on looking into the nest I saw a white little helpless lump 
with one or two ridiculous looking pieces of whitish down 
sticking on here and there like the present-day ladies' hats. 
Thirteen did not sound very propitious and the mark of Cain 
was on the father's brow. But the mother was the proudest 
bird at Park Lodge, and her tenderness and devotion toward 
her little one were marvellous to behold. She was always 
