ing East I consulted those who are wisest in matters of such fine
china, but they were unable to clear up the matter. For five years that
mystery haunted me. At the end of that time, when back in California, up
in those same oaks, I found another cup of the same pattern; but the cup
got broken and that was the end of it.

The fact of the matter is, you can identify perhaps ninety per cent. of
the birds you see, with an opera-glass and--patience; but when it comes
to the other ten per cent., including small vireos and flycatchers, and
some others that might be mentioned, you are involved in perplexities
that torment your mind and make you meditate murder; for it is
impossible to

Name _all_ the birds without a gun.

On bringing my riddle to the wise men, they shook their heads and asked
why I did not shoot my bird and find out who he was. On saying the word
his skin would be sent to me; but after knowing the little family in
their home it would have been like raising my hand against familiar
friends. Could I take their lives to gratify my curiosity about a name?
I pondered long and weighed the matter well, trying to harden my heart;
but the image of the winning trustful birds always rose before me and
made it impossible. I will put the case before you, and you can judge if
you would not have withheld your hand.

One day, hearing the sound of battle up in the treetops, I hurried over
to the scene of action, when out dashed a pair of courageous little
dull-colored birds in hot pursuit of a blue jay, whom they dove at till
they drove him from the field. My sympathies were enlisted at once.
Fearless little tots to brave a bird four times as big as themselves in
defense of their home! How hard to have to build and rear a brood in the
face of such a powerful foe! I wanted to take up the cudgels for them
and stand guard to see that no harm came.

Planting my camp-stool under their oak, I watched eagerly to have my new
friends show me their home. As I waited, a pair of turtle doves walked
about on the sand under the farther branches of the tree; a pair of
woodpeckers sat on a dead limb lying in wait for their prey; and a
couple of titmice came hunting through the oak--all the world seemed
full of happy home-makers.

But soon I saw a sight that made me forget everything else. There were
my brave little birds up in the oak working upon a beautiful moss cup
that hung from a forked twig. They were building together,