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IDYLLS OF BIRD LIFE 
and shift for themselves. What had become of the other fellow? 
I cannot say, but I hope that some swooping hawk did not make 
a breakfast on its diminutive body. After this I necessarily 
severed my connections with my blue jay acquaintances. 
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It was on a warm afternoon, in the middle of May, during 
a lull in a hotly-contested tennis game, while resting with a 
number of companions in the cool shade of a row of sweet 
syringas that bordered the court, that I was attracted by hearing 
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the rustle of leaves directly back of me and about five feet from 
the ground. Curious to know the nature of the commotion, I 
began an investigation, and after live or ten minutes, I was too 
excited to take the exact time, I found the ragged but well-made 
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nest of a pair of catbirds. It was the “papa bird” who had dis- 
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turbed me while he was busy feeding his modest little brown- 
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eyed mate, who sat silently brooding over her nest, apparently 
undisturbed by this close proximity of danger. 
As soon as I discovered this precious chance of studying 
the catbird and its habits, I lost all interest in the tennis game, 
although it was ,my serve, the score was forty love, and I had a 
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i»MS 
[ 32 ] 
