THE STITCHBIRD 55 
manners are still unknown, we dared not in any 
way take liberties. An only nest cannot be visited 
often or besieged long without dread of causing 
desertion; then again with but one in hand 
anxiety is never absent in regard to vermin. 
Personally, I never feel happy unless at least 
three nests of a rare breed are under observation 
—if one then should chance to be destroyed, 
others remain. Risk from rats and cats is peren- 
nial and unavoidable, but vermin seem to be 
further attracted by signs of human traffic. Again 
and again valuable nests have been lost to us 
in spite of scrupulous care, in spite of meals 
eaten far from the nest, in spite of the destruc- 
tion by fire of every crumb and every scrap of 
paper. 
Of the three nests most closely watched, two had. 
stages built in front of them, from which we were 
able to note Stitchbirds’ use and wont at the 
distance of a few feet. Our first was discovered 
on a Sunday afternoon late in November. 
For some time previously we had become aware 
1 The day had been earmarked for photography of a Robin’s 
nest ; we had not, however, taken into account the scruples of 
Ruth, the small daughter of our kind host and hostess. After 
contemplating with round astonished eyes our scandalous pre- 
parations on this the first day of the week, at last she warned us 
plainly, “Oh, but God won’t love you if you work on Sunday.” 
The offending cameras were put away, and virtue rewarded with 
a promptitude that does not always occur in this vale of tears— 
that afternoon Leask spotted our first Stitchbird’s nesting hole. 
