gnant motherhood. The structure was made of
sticks, and enormous in size; a half-bushel measure would hardly hold
it. It was covered, as if to protect her, and it had two openings under
the cover, toward either of which she could turn her face. It looked
like a big, coarsely woven basket resting in a crotch up under the
leaves, with a nearly close cover supported by a small branch above.
The sitting bird could draw herself down out of sight, or she could
defend herself and her brood, at either entrance.

In my retreat, I had noted all these points before any sign of life
appeared in the brush. Then there came a low cry of "mag! mag!" and the
bird entered near the ground. She alighted on a dead branch, which swung
back and forth, while she kept her balance with her beautiful tail. She
did not appear to look around; apparently she had no suspicions and did
not notice us, sitting motionless and breathless in our respective
places. Her head was turned to the nest, and by easy stages and with
many pauses, she made her way to it. I could not see that she had a
companion, for I dared not stir so much as a finger; but while she moved
about near the nest there came to the eager listeners on the ground low
and tender utterances in the sweetest of voices,--whether one or two I
know not,--and at last a song, a true melody, of a yearning, thrilling
quality that few song-birds, if any, can excel. I was astounded! Who
would suspect the harsh-voiced, screaming magpie of such notes! I am
certain that the bird or birds had no suspicion of listeners to the home
talk and song, for after we were discovered, we heard nothing of the
sort.

This little episode ended, madam slipped into her nest, and all became
silent, she in her place and I in mine. If this state of things could
only remain; if she would only accept me as a tree-trunk or a misshapen
bowlder, and pay no attention to me, what a beautiful study I should
have! Half an hour, perhaps more, passed without a sound, and then the
silence was broken by magpie calls from without. The sitting bird left
the nest and flew out of the grove, quite near the ground; I heard much
talk and chatter in low tones outside, and they flew. I slipped out as
quickly as possible, wishing indeed that I had wings as she had, and
went home, encouraged to think I should really be able to study the
magpie.

But I did not know my bird. The next day, before I knew she was about,
she discovered me, though it wa