A MARTINET IN FEATHERS 
mother was seen returning, down they would 
squat, as if the idea of flying had never oc- 
curred to them. 
Twilight was a time of much restless 
poking and squirming on the part of these 
nestlings. Apparently they were as hard to 
put to sleep as human babies. As another 
writer says of young humming-birds, “ They 
resented being sat on,” and the mother was 
finally forced to be content with a seat on 
the edge of the nest. 
When they were fourteen days old, there 
came a hard rain and wind which tore down 
trees and washed out culverts. Anxiously 
I watched the brave little mother battle with 
the storm. At first she sat facing the win- 
dow, not daring to turn her back to me. 
Alas ! in all those fourteen days she had not 
learned to trust me. The wind, catching 
her wings and tail, threatened to lift her 
bodily from the nest, and in a momentary 
lull she managed to turn herself so as to 
face it, not once rising to expose the little 
ones. There she clung for nearly two hours, 
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