ed bill; but a
few days later I came on a family of young, and discovered for myself
that _they_ have straight bills; a most curious and interesting instance
of adaptation.

At the head of the garden stands a tree that always reminds me of the
horses I rode in California. I watched my first bush-tit's nest under
it, with Canello grazing near; and five years later watched another
bush-tit's nest there, sitting in the crotch of the oak with Mountain
Billy looking over my shoulder. Although Billy was, in his prime, a
bucking mustang, he became more of a petted companion than Canello had
been; and when we were out alone together, we were a great deal of
company for each other. As soon as I dismounted he would put his head
down to have me slip the reins off over his ears, so that he could graze
by himself. Sometimes, when he stood behind me he rested his bridle on
my sun-hat, and once went so far as to take a bite out of the brim--in
consideration of its being straw. If I were sitting on the ground and he
was grazing near, he would at times walk up and gravely raise his face
to look into mine. When he got tired, he would rub up against my arm and
yawn, looking down at me with a friendly smile in his eyes.

Birding was rather dull for Billy--when there was neither grass nor
poison ivy at hand, but he had one never-failing source of
enjoyment--rolling. He tried it in the sand under the oak, one day, with
the saddle on. Before I knew what he was about he was down on his knees,
sitting still, with a comical, helpless look in his eyes, as if quite at
a loss to know what to do next, having become conscious of the saddle.
When I had gotten him on his feet and finished lecturing him I uncinched
the saddle, laid it one side on the ground, took hold of the end of the
long bridle, and told him to roll. A droll abstracted look came into
his eyes, he dropped on his knees and, with a sudden convulsion, threw
his heels into the air and rolled back and forth, rubbing his backbone
vigorously on the sand. After that, the first thing every morning when
we got to the oaks, I unsaddled him and let him roll, and then he would
stand with bare back keeping cool in the shade of the trees.

One morning as we stood under the bush-tit's tree, I discovered a pair
of turtle doves looking out at me from the leaves of the small oak
opposite, craning their necks and moving their heads uneasily. One of
them seemed to be shaping a nest of twigs. I drew Bill