S°° THE OBSERVER. 
the juncos on my mind and kept hoping to come upon a pair of them 
in their woodland home. 
Sometimes I got a fleeting glimpse of a slate-colored back and white 
tail feathers on the fence of an old pasture, bordering the woods, 
and sometimes saw a pair of juncos in a newly made clearing, where 
brush-heaps, wood-piles and dead tree tops made a good cover for 
birds. 
One day I came near finding a nest. I was sitting on an old black- 
ened rail-fence on the edge of a swamp, where the foliage was dense 
and mossy logs lay in picturesque confusion, their spaces filled with a 
rich growth of ferns. Before me stood the vertical earth-covered 
root of a great fallen tree, and in the cavity that the roots had left, a 
clear pool of water mirrored the golden-green branches of a sunlit 
beech. While enjoying the richness and beauty of the swamp I caught 
sight of a pair of snowbirds. They leaned forward, turning their 
heads to look at me. Then the male took a walk up a slanting tree 
trunk, with eyes upon me, after which he flew to a sapling behind my 
back, and while hunting over the branches, frequently took occasion to 
glance down over his shoulder. Had the birds a nest in the upturned 
root? I was preparing to look for it, when they flew away to the 
dryer part of the woods. I followed and found them in a place where 
a cyclone had left a tangle of fallen trees. They seemed so much at 
home that I felt sure they lived there, but they were as quietand com- 
posed as if having nothing to hide from me. However, I have often 
observed that up to a certain point, a junco’s repose of manner is 
worthy of imitation; though beyond that he is as nervous and pani'cky 
as other feathered parents. After hunting vainly for the nest of this 
pair, and making a mental note of another upturned root, I left them 
with their secret. 
The next June I found a pair of juncos in the same place, and by 
sitting down quietly till they became used to me, saw them carry food 
to their nest; and that in the very root I had suspected the year before, 
which goes to show the importance of mapping your district and re- 
visiting old nesting sites from year to year. If the birds had not 
shown me the nest I should never have found it, for it was hidden in 
the earth behind a fringe of roots, and besides, was the color of the 
earth, being covered with a coat of rootlets. Inside, as I found when 
the young had flown, it had a thick lining of grass, over which were 
scattered short white hairs. While the snowbirds were feeding their 
nestlings, a chipmunk came along and they both flew at him, following 
and dashing at him till they showed their white tail feathers, and he 
was glad to scamper away over the leaves. 
ORNITHOLOGY. 
S°i 
These juncos built in good orthodox nesting sites, but one summer, 
much to my amazement and delight, a pair of them departed from the 
traditions of the family and built in the grass between two small Nor- 
way spruces not a rod from the front door of our farmer’s cottage. 
Possibly the canary who sang outside the door was one argument in 
deciding them where it would be safe and pleasant to live. The 
farmer told me of the nest and said that he had almost stepped on it in 
mowing. Like the nest in the woods it was made largely of fine root- 
lets. It held two pretty greenish-white eggs with a wreath of brown 
spots around the larger end. and besides cradled three little birds 
whose eyes were not yet open. 
The grass had been cut so recently that the brooding bird had not 
gotten used to public gaze, and when I crept up to look at her, al- 
though I screened myself behind one of the evergreens, she flattened 
herself on the nest, her eyes grew big with fright and she opened her 
bill at me. 
1 he next time I went to see her she was less afraid. She and her 
mate sat up in a small maple behind the nest and plumed themselves 
in the shade. Apparently the nestlings were taking an afternoon nap, 
protected from the sun by the shadow of the evergreen. But though 
the mother bird thought it unnecessary to brood the nest, the father of 
the family found a great deal to attend to. When a pair of brother 
juncos came along with building materials — was another family going 
to build out in the clearing ?— -he flew at them as no house owner 
should, and not only drove them out of his dooryard, but well around 
the corner of the house. A mild lady redstart, who lit in the tree next 
to the one he had appropriated, was flown at in the same lordly style 
of don’t-you-dare-come-near-where-my-family-is; and a gentle song 
sparrow received similar hospitable attentions. 
When I went to look in the nest he seemed to think it a different 
matter, and both he and his mate sat calmly looking down while I counted 
the young— all five were hatched now. But though the snowbirds 
were so self possessed they did not care to feed their brood so publicly 
while my dogs were lying on the grass near by. 
1 hey came with food and craned down as if wanting to fly to the 
nest, but did not dare. A chipping sparrow who came to feed its 
young in the evergreen was of the same mind, and sat with a green 
grasshopper in its bill for ten or fifteen minutes. Then I took pity on 
its aching mandibles and withdrew into the house with my dogs. At 
that, both families went to feeding their broods. At first the juncos 
made a detour, flying down to the nest from the back of the evergreen, 
