502 
THE OBSERVER. 
but soon they were going and coming as freely as if in the heart of 
the forest. 
Once the two gray snowbirds stood side by side at the nest, and 
after they had fed their little ones the father junc© apparently put a 
morsel into the bill of his mate. When he had left her side she quietly 
hopped down in the nest;— the sun had gone behind a bank of clouds 
and the wind had risen, so that her tender nestlings needed the pro- 
tection of her brooding wings. 
After this the juncos had much to test their courage and teach them 
the seriousness of building in front yards. The farmer, thinking that he 
had exposed the nest too much by mowing, made a wall of shingles 
around it to keep off the sun. I was frightened when I heard what he 
had done, but when the bird came she calmly lit on the shingles and, 
as he said, “seeing the sun did not come in on her birds,” hopped down 
to the nest. When the shingles blew over, the farmer stuck maple 
boughs in their place, so that when the fledglings first crept out they 
nestled down under the shade of the leaves. So far the snowbirds had 
held themselves bravely. Then came a day when the little boys of the 
family were home from school, romping boisterously around the house. 
After shouting to the old birds they came and beat the trees on which 
the poor juncos were perched. At first they were much frightened, but 
perhaps they bethought them of the worms and bread crumbs the 
noisy boys had brought to the nest the day before, for they soon grew 
quiet. Still, when the children had gone, they stretched 
themselves as if relieved, and flew down with the food they had been 
holding in their bills. Another day a German girl went to see the 
nest and attempted to take out one of the little birds. This was going 
a step too far. The birds both flew down and struck at her, flying 
around her excitedly as she retreated. She said with a laugh, “I 
thought they was going to bite me.” 
But in spite of these trying experiences, the snowbirds did not 
think it necessary to lead their growing brood back to the woods. 
They fed them in the grass between the house and the barn, lighting 
first on a bush for a survey of the field and then flying down to walk 
through the green blades — as high as their heads to find their 
scattered young ones. It was a pleasure to watch the little family. 
The old birds would plume themselves in the sun close by me, and once 
came within five feet of me to pick up seeds. Although nesting in 
such an unusual place they were as tame and confiding as when they 
came about the house in winter. Perhaps they were a pair we had 
fed the previous December and given faith in man along with the 
buckwheat. 
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