WHEN THE BIRDS ARE NESTING. 
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deserted. With guilty speculations we looked in and beheld three 
little unclothed babies lying snug in a pool of rain water. 
That was a year ago, but Madame Bushtit still carries the cotton 
at nesting time, though we substituted cotton batting for the absorb¬ 
ent kind. A yellow warbler was induced to nest on the grounds, 
from the pine root bait we set. She took cotton only, and day by 
day in a crotch of the pepper the little white pile grew and spread 
out, its extreme whiteness contrasting well with the lemon yellow 
of the beautiful bird. When it was done she lined the cup with grey 
hairs from the combings of a certain lady who will not waste so 
trivial a thing. If the birds want it, give it to them ! Time is so 
kind to turn one’s brown hair white to make the lining of a yellow 
warbler’s nest! 
The mockers and the towhees each take what the}" can find in the 
commercial house, excepting the cotton. They go dragging strings 
and white rags across the grass, looking behind them for a possible 
end, and trying to manage altogether too much at a time. 
Sweet little black-headed phoebe, who would come right in at the 
Oriole’s Nest, with Modern “Lean-to.” 
