idently, she resolved to take me in hand.
She assumed the role of deceiver, with all the wariness of her family;
her object being, as I suppose, carefully to point out where her nest
was _not_. She circled about me, taking no pains to avoid my gaze. Now
she squawked on the right; then she acted "the anxious mother" on the
left; this time it was from the clump of rosebushes in front that she
rose hurriedly, as if that was her home; again it was from over my head,
in the chokecherry-tree, that she bustled off, as if she had been
"caught in the act." It was a brilliant, a wonderful performance, a
thousand times more effective than trailing or any of the similar
devices by which an uneasy bird mother draws attention from her brood.
It was so well done that at each separate manoeuvre I could hardly be
convinced by my own eyes that the particular spot indicated did not
conceal the little homestead I was seeking. Several times I rose
triumphant, feeling sure that "now indeed I _do_ know where it is," and
proceeded at once to the bush she had pointed out with so much simulated
reluctance, parted the branches, and looked in, only to find myself
deceived again. Her acting was marvelous. With just the properly
anxious, uneasy manner, she would steal behind a clump of leaves into
some retired spot admirably adapted for a chat's nest, and after a
moment sneak out at the other side, and fly away near the ground,
exactly as all bird-students have seen bird mothers do a thousand
times.

After this performance a silence fell upon the tangle and the solitary
nook in which I sat,--and I meditated. It was the last day of my stay.
Should I set up a search for that nest which I was sure was within
reach? I could go over the whole in half an hour, examine every shrub
and low tree and inch of ground in it, and doubtless I should find it.
No; I do not care for a nest thus forced. The distress of parents, the
panic of nestlings, give me no pleasure. I know how a chat's nest looks.
I have seen one with its pinky-pearl eggs; why should I care to see
another? I know how young birds look; I have seen dozens of them this
very summer. Far better that I never lay eyes upon the nest than to do
it at such cost.

As I reached this conclusion, into the midst of my silence came the
steady tramp of a horse. I knew the wild rose path was a favorite
retreat from the sun, and it was very hot. The path was narrow; if a
horse came in upon me, he could not turn