MARSH CRADLES 
tumble. They liked to cuddle down on 
our fingers or hop up my arm to the 
shoulder, and took especial delight in hid- 
ing inside my shirtwaist sleeve, entering at 
the wrist, which the heat had compelled me 
to unfasten. 
They were certainly the very prettiest of 
all our bird babies, unless we except the 
young chickadee, — when the question be- 
comes a choice between soft grays or browns 
and white. Being so much more helpless 
than the chickadees, they appealed to my 
heart as no other feathered babies ever have 
done. 
As soon as we had placed them nicely 
within focus of the camera on the rushes, 
one would decide to snuggle up a bit closer 
to his neighbor, and the next moment the 
four would perform feats of tumbling not 
seen in any vaudeville. Some of the 
feathers were not entirely out, and this 
seemed to bother them, for their little 
heads were constantly turning back in fran- 
tic efforts to preen their funny apologies for 
9 129 
