thief, being shaken out by
the wind, smothered by an intrusive cow-bunting, or orphaned by the gun
of a "collector;" if, neither stolen, eaten, thrown out, nor starved, he
arrives at the age that his wings begin to stir and force him out of the
leafy green tent of his birth, a new set of dangers meet him at the
door. He may entangle himself in a hair of the nest-lining, and hang
himself at the very threshold of life--a not uncommon occurrence; or he
may safely reach the nearest twig and from there fall and break his
neck--not a rare accident; he may be attacked by a bird who questions
his right to be on the tree; he may fly, and, not reaching his goal,
come to the ground, an easy prey to any prowler.

In this blackbird family one of the little ones had taken his first
ambitious flight to the oriole's tree, where he must and should be fed
and comforted, in spite of the hostile reception of its gayly dressed
proprietor. The father took upon himself this duty, and many times
during the day the above-mentioned scene was reenacted, loud blackbird
calls, husky baby notes, the musical war-cry of the oriole, and a chase.

A second infant had wisely confined his wandering to his own tree, one
of a group of tall pines that towered above the roofs of the village.
This one could be easily watched as he stood on one branch for an hour
at a time, sometimes in the nest attitude, head sunk in shoulders and
beak pointed toward the sky, again looking eagerly around on his new
world, turning his head from side to side, changing position to see the
other way, and showing himself wide awake although the yellowish
baby-down was still on his head, and his tail was not an inch long. Now
and then the mother was heard calling in the distance, and as she
approached he became all excitement, fluttering his wings, and answering
in the husky tones of the family. A moment later, after a quick glance
around, but without alighting and reconnoitring the whole neighborhood,
as the robin does, she came down beside the eager youngling,
administered to the wide open mouth what looked like two or three savage
pecks, but doubtless were nothing worse than mouthfuls of food, and
instantly flew again, while the refreshed infant stretched his wings
and legs, changed his place a little, and settled into comfortable quiet
after his lunch.

The urchin in the enemy's tree was not the most unfortunate of the
nestlings. One already lay dead on the ground under the ne