aded Grosbeak.

(One half natural size.)]

[Illustration: Rose-breasted Grosbeak.

(One half natural size.)]

In the giant twin oak under whose shadow the the little schoolhouse
stood was an owl's nest. When I stopped under it, nothing was to be seen
but the tips of the ears of the brooding bird. But when I tried to hoot
after the manner of owls, the angry old crone rose up on her feet above
the nest till I could see her round yellow eyes and the full length of
her long ears. She snapped her bill fiercely, bristled up, puffing out
her feathers and shaking them at us threateningly. Poor old bird! I was
amused at her performances, but one of her little birds lay dead at the
foot of the tree, and I trembled for the others, for the school-children
were near neighbors. Surely the old bird needed all her devices to
protect her young. One day I saw on one side of the nest, below the big
ears of the mother, the round head of a nestling.

It was pleasant to leave the road to ride out under the oaks along the
way. There was always the delightful feeling that one might see a new
bird or find some little friend just gone to housekeeping. One morning I
discovered a bit of a wren under an oak with building material in her
bill. She flew down to a box that lay under the tree and I dismounted to
investigate. A tin can lay on its side in the box, and a few twigs and
yellowish brown oak leaves were scattered about in a casual way, but the
rusted lid of the can was half turned back, and well out of sight in the
inside was a pretty round nest with one egg in it. I was
delighted,--such an appropriate place for a wren's nest,--and sat down
for her to come back. She was startled to find me there, and stopped on
the edge of the board when just ready to jump down. She would have made
a pretty picture as she stood hesitating, with her tail over her back,
for the sun lit up her gray breast till it almost glistened and warmed
her pretty brown head as she looked wistfully down at the box. After
twisting and turning she went off to think the matter over, and,
encouraged perhaps by my whistle, came back and hopped down into the
little nest.

Two weeks later I was much grieved to find that the nest had been broken
up. A horse had been staked under the tree, but he could not have done
the mischief; for while the eggs were there, the nest itself was all
jumbled up in the mouth of the can. I could not get it out of my mind
for days. You become so