Thf truk story of pKggotTy. 185 
would doubtless have noticed, in the top of the tallest pine, 
the bulky nest of the identical black crow which made such 
havoc in the cornfield last summer. But if you had looked 
among the branches of the oak which stands just below the 
spring, you might have seen the cradle which was the first 
home of our Peggotty. It does not look one bit like the 
nest you would suppose such a beauty as Mr. Grosbeak 
would build for his babies—simply twigs, so lightly thrown 
together that you could almost see the spotted blue eggs 
from beneath. 
One morning last summer, in early June, I came upon 
Mr. and Mrs. Grosbeak preparing for housekeeping. He 
was a handsome fellow—pure white beneath, with a bright 
rose-red breastplate tapering to a point. He wore a black 
velvet cap and a black velvet coat with snow-white feather 
trimmings. He was quite a contrast to his mate, in her 
sparrowy browns. Soon after, the cradle of brown sticks 
held four blue eggs, carefully sheltered by the warm, soft 
feathers of the mother’s breast. The father bird, too, took 
his turn in sitting on the eggs, and in course of time there 
were four baby birds, with gaping mouths always ready 
for breakfast, dinner and supper, which the old birds were 
kept busy supplying. 
But, alas ! One day a sad thing happened. Mr. Gros¬ 
beak was shot by a thoughtless hunter. Then Mrs. Gros¬ 
beak had to work very hard to find food for her little ones. 
One day she flew off for food and never returned. I never 
knew what became of her. A short time after, one of the 
babies fell from the nest and was killed; a second died 
from hunger, and the other two were carried home by 
Cousin Harry and cared for. When he returned to school 
in September, Peggy came into our possession, and her 
brother found a happy home with a friend near by. 
Peggy has a soft, sweet little song, and, when all is 
quiet, will sometimes sing for an hour at a time. She seems 
