770 
A Widow and Twins. 
The other youngster, Number One, as 
I now called him, stayed in the tree, or 
at most ventured only into the next one, 
and was fed at varying intervals, — as 
often, apparently, as the busy mother 
could find anything to give him. Would 
he go back to his cradle for the night ? 
It seemed not improbable, notwithstand¬ 
ing he had shown no sign of such an 
intention so long as daylight lasted. At 
3.50 the next morning, therefore, I stole 
out to see. No ; Number Two was there 
alone. 
At seven o’clock, when I made my sec¬ 
ond visit, the mother was in the midst 
of another day’s hard work. Twice 
within five minutes she brought food to 
the nestling. Once the little fellow — 
not so very little now — happened to be 
facing east, while the old bird alight¬ 
ed, as she had invariably done, on the 
western side. The youngster, instead of 
facing about, threw back his head and 
opened his beak. “ Look out, there ! ” 
exclaimed my fellow-observer ; “ you ’ll 
break his neck if you feed him in that 
way.” But she did not mind. Young 
birds’ necks are not so easily broken. 
Within ten minutes of this time she fed 
Number One, giving him three doses. 
They were probably small, however (and 
small wonder), for he begged hard for 
more, opening his bill with an appealing- 
air. The action in this case was par¬ 
ticularly well seen, and the vehement 
jerking, while the beaks were glued to¬ 
gether, seemed almost enough to pull 
the young fellow’s head off. Within an¬ 
other ten minutes the mother was again 
ministering to Number Two ! Poor little 
widow! Between her incessant labors 
of this kind and her overwhelming anx¬ 
iety whenever any strange bird came 
near, I began to be seriously alarmed 
for her. As a member of a strictly 
American family, she was in a fair 
way, I thought, to be overtaken by the 
“most American of diseases,” — ner¬ 
vous prostration. It tired me to watch 
her. 
[June, 
With us, and perhaps with her like¬ 
wise, it was a question whether Number 
Two would remain in the nest for the 
day. He grew more and more restless; 
as my companion — a learned man — 
expressed it, he began to “ramp round.” 
Once he actually mounted the rim of 
the nest, a thing which his more preco¬ 
cious brother had never been seen to 
do, and stretched forward to pick at a 
neighboring stem. Late that afternoon 
the mother fed him five times within an 
hour, instead of once an hour, or there¬ 
abouts, as had been her habit three 
weeks before. She meant to have him 
in good condition for the coming event; 
and he, on his part, was active to the 
same end, — standing upon the wall of 
the nest again and again, and exercising 
his wings till they made a cloud about 
him. A dread of launching away still 
kept him back, however, and shortly 
after seven o’clock I found him com¬ 
fortably disposed for the night. “ He 
is now on his twenty-first day (at least) 
in the nest. To-morrow will see him 
go.” So end my day’s notes. 
At 5.45 the next morning he was still 
there. At 6.20 I absented myself for a 
few minutes, and on returning was hailed 
by my neighbor with the news that 
the nest was empty. Number Two had 
flown between 6.25 and 6.30, but, un¬ 
happily, neither of us was at hand to 
give him a cheer. I trust that he and 
his mother were not hurt in their feel¬ 
ings by the oversight. The whole fam¬ 
ily (minus the father) was still in the 
apple-tree ; the mother full, and more 
than full, of business, feeding one young¬ 
ster after the other, as thev sat here and 
there in the upper branches. 
Twenty-four hours later, as I stood 
in the orchard, I heard a hum of wings, 
and found the mother over my head. 
Presently she flew into the top of the 
tree, and the next instant was sitting 
beside one of the young ones. His 
hungry mouth was already wide open, 
but before feeding him she started up 
