e, for he paid no more attention
to the new-comer, who did not stay long on the tree after this second
disaster.

The next morning came up out of the nest quite an unnatural oriole
baby--he did not cry. Silently, he stepped out upon a twig, and looked
about in the new world around him. He carefully dressed his feathers,
and often rose to his full height and stretched his legs, as if it were
legs and not wings he needed in his new life. The third scion of the
household had also a marked character of his own. Having planted himself
on the threshold, and found it a convenient place to intercept all food
on its way to the younger ones still unseen, he remained. Every time the
mother came with a mouthful, he fluttered and coaxed, and usually got
it. It was too good a situation to leave and he seemed to have settled
for life; but his wings overpowered his inertia or greed, about four
o'clock in the afternoon.

So long had the third young oriole occupied his position, that the
fourth made his appearance almost immediately, as though he had been
waiting. There does appear to be some regulation of this sort among the
orioles, for in all that I have noticed, no two ever came out together
(excepting once, when both went back almost instantly, and one returned
alone). This late comer had not the whole long sunny day to loiter
away, and he flew in an hour. The fifth and last came up early the next
morning evidently in haste to join the scattered family, for he bade
farewell to the native tree in a short time. No more orioles appeared
upon the maple from this day, but for two weeks I saw the little party
about; the father, whom I had missed after the flight of the first
infant, working like a drudge, with two or three hungry urchins wherever
he went, excepting when he sought food in the new-cut grass on the
ground. He gave us no more songs, but his sweet, low call sounded all
day on the place.

Another family of little folk came upon the maple after the orioles were
gone, a nuthatch tribe. There were three or four of them exactly like
the mother excepting a shorter tail, and they followed her like a flock
of sheep, over and under branches, around the trunk, up or down or any
way, never pausing more than an instant, not even when she plumped a
morsel into a waiting mouth. She led her little procession by her
querulous-sounding "quank," while they replied with a low "chir-up" in
the same tone. It was a very funny sight. They could f