s-knowing-it kind of a
bird, not she! Her remarks sounded as if made over my head, and when
Billy stamped about the brush and rapped the saddle trying to switch off
flies, I imagined guiltily that they were addressed to me; but while I
wondered if she would keep away all the rest of the morning because she
had discovered me, back she came, talking to herself in complaining
tones and whipping her tail impatiently, even after she stood on the
edge of the nest, evidently absorbed in her own affairs, quite to the
exclusion of the person down in the brush who thought herself so
important!

My doves were attending to me, however, altogether too much. The
brooding bird was anxious to go to her nest. After flying out where she
could see me, she whizzed toward it; but, fearful, hesitated and talked
it over with her mate--both birds cooed with inflated breaths. After
that the branches rattled overhead, but even then, though my back was
turned, the timid bird dared not stay. She must make another inspection.
From an opposite oak she peered through the branches, moving her head
excitedly, and calling out her impressions to her mate. Meanwhile, he
had flown down the sand stream and called back quite calmly. I, also,
cooed reassuringly to her, and soon she quieted down and began to plume
her feathers on the sunny branch. As the gnatcatchers did not honor us
with their attention even when Billy stalked around in plain sight, I
moved a little closer to their nest to give the dove more freedom; and
soon the gentle bird slipped back to her brooding.

Before leaving I went to see the dove in the oak, and spoke caressingly
to her, admiring her soft dove-colored feathers and shining iridescent
neck. She was on her own ground there, and felt that she could safely be
friends, so she only winked in the sun, paying no heed to her mate when
he called warningly. It was especially pleasant to watch this reserved
lady-like bird, after the flippant tell-all-you-know little gnat.

On going away, Billy and I took a run up the canyon. Billy was in high
spirits, and went racing up the narrow road, winding and turning
through the chaparral, brushing me against the the stiff scrub oak and
loping under low branches so fast that the sharp leaves snapped back,
stinging my cheeks. We had a gay ride, with a spice of excitement thrown
in; for on our way home, in the thick dust across our path, besides the
pretty quail tracks that made wall-paper patterns on t