May, 1909 
A PROBLEM IN INDETERMINATES 
89 
started and doesn’t find anything, will keep going. After awhile I found myself 
far beyond the locality I had spotted for the Hawk’s nest, but as it seemed I ought 
to stumble on a nest of Grouse, or something, I kept going. Nests of the Lark 
Bunting were there in plenty, but as I had room in my collecting box for only a 
good set of Hawk or Grouse I didn’t bother the Buntings. Once I startled a 
female Bunting from a nest with seven eggs, and when I saw five males at once 
settle in the bush in which she took refuge, I was prone to question the code of 
ethics governing a Bunting household. Then I thought how queer it was that 
nature is so capricious; if Lark Bunting eggs were quite rare and worth two dol- 
lars each in exchange, more than likely the Bunting’s nests would be located in 
the tops of the highest pine trees on the hillsides, and I could never find one in a 
day’s travel. It seems strange that Mr. Emerson omitted this little point from his 
essay on "Compensation.” 
As I was saying, presently a little patch of weeds caught my eye, over on the 
bench. It was just a little patch, no more than eight or ten feet in diameter. 
NEST OF THE SHORT-EARED OWL 
Disappointed and leg weary, I brusht threateningly against it to alarm any possi- 
ble tenant; and what happened? A great cloud of grayish brown feathers floated 
almost into my face from between mv feet, and drifted noiselessly away over the 
bench. My first impression -was that the entire patch of shrubbery had taken wing 
in my startled imagination. Then all the catalog of owls ruslit thru my 
mental vision, and I realized that for the first time in my life — the first time, mind 
you — I had chanced on the nest of the Short-eared Owl. Yes, I, too, was once a 
barefoot boy, but I did not experience all the pleasures of life in that limited boy- 
hood; there w 7 as something left that had just fallen to my lot — a new experience in 
bird nesting. No doubt some of you who are getting as gray-headed as I am can 
imagine something of my exultation as I peered at the opening in the shrubbery at 
my feet. Eight eggs, large and pearly and shiny — no, that was all in my imagina- 
tion, for as I examined them I found them dirty and blood stained, yet I knew 
that a little -water would remedy all that. Did I leave them in that damp opening, 
