ink was, we knew all his tricks, and had
outwitted him often.

"Where shall we go, Bob?" said I. "We haven't been to see whether that
cedar-bird's nest down by the river has any eggs in it yet."

"Oh, bother the cedar-bird! we can attend to his case any day. Let's go
through the bushes on the other side of the meadow, and then down to the
big bridge. We haven't been to the hill where the old dead tree is for
ever so long."

"All right," said I; so we climbed the fence, crossed the meadow, and
plunged into the bushes, watching every bush, and listening to every
noise. Suddenly we heard a rustling of wings, and then a mournful cry
like the wail of a lost kitten.

"Now, Bob, look sharp," I exclaimed; "there's a cat-bird's nest in here,
and Fred Sprague asked me to get an egg for him the first time I came
across any."

The old bird was fluttering from bush to bush, continually "mewing," and
seeming to be in great distress. "There's the nest, Jack," cried Bob,
pointing to a mass of twigs on the top of a tall bush. "You stand
underneath and hold your hat to catch the eggs if they fall, and I'll
bend down the branch."

The cat-bird was now in a terrible state of mind, and flew around our
heads scolding at a great rate. We told her that we only meant to take
one egg, but she wasn't a bit satisfied with our explanation.

Down came the bush as Bob carefully bent it, and presently we could see
into the nest, where four beautiful eggs were lying. We took one of them
out, and let the branch slowly up again; but the cat-bird did not seem
at all grateful.

"Let's blow the egg now," said I; "'twill be easier to carry. Have you
got a pin with you?"

Bob gave me a pin, with which I made a little hole in each end of the
egg. Then putting one end to my lips, I blew gently and steadily, until
out came the clear white and then the yellow yolk, leaving the empty
shell as light as a feather. Wrapping the egg in cotton, and placing it
in a little pasteboard box that I took from my pocket, I felt certain
that I could carry it home safely.

We found no more nests in the bushes, and after a while Bob said: "Let's
make a bee-line for the bridge, and see if there's anything in that dead
tree."

So we came back to the road, crossed the bridge, and went to the foot of
a great dead elm-tree that stood on the side hill a little way from the
river. It must have been struck by lightning, for it was nothing but a
shell, and a long blackened