o the chamber, but, with her eye fixed upon the man with
the newspaper, feared to enter. The male, perched upon the telegraph
wire fifty feet away, would raise his wings and put all the love and
assurance in his voice he was capable of, apparently trying to dispel
her fears. He would warble and warble, and make those pretty wing
gestures over and over, saying so plainly: "It is all right, my dear,
the man is harmless--absorbed there in his newspaper. Go in, go in, and
keep warm our precious eggs!" How long she hesitated! But as night grew
near she grew more and more anxious, and he more and more eloquent.
Finally she alighted upon the edge of the overhanging roof and peered
down hesitatingly. Her mate applauded and encouraged till finally she
made the plunge and entered the hole, but instantly came out again; her
heart failed her for a moment; but she soon returned and remained
inside. Then her mate flew away toward the orchard, uttering a cheery
note which doubtless she understood.

The birds soon became used to my presence and their household matters
progressed satisfactorily. Both birds took a hand in feeding the young,
which grew rapidly. When they were nearly ready to leave the nest, a
cruel fate befell them: I slept upon the porch, and one night I was
awakened by the cry of young bluebirds, and the sound of feet like those
of a squirrel on the roof over me. Then I heard the cry of a young bird
proceed from the butternut-tree across the road opposite the house. I
said to myself, "A squirrel or an owl is after my birds." The cry coming
so quickly from the butternut-tree made me suspect an owl, and that the
bird whose cry I heard was in his talons. I was out of my cot and up to
the nest in a moment, but the tragedy was over; the birds were all gone,
and the night was silent. In the morning I found that a piece of the
brittle birch limb had been torn away, enlarging the entrance to the
cavity so that the murderous talons of the owl could reach in and seize
the young birds. I had been aroused in time to hear the marauder on the
roof with one, and then hear its cry as he carried it to the tree. In
the grass in front I found one of the young, unable to fly, but
apparently unhurt. I put it back in the nest, but it would not stay. The
spell of the nest was broken, and the young bird took to the grass
again. The parent birds were on hand, much excited, and, when I tried to
return the surviving bird to the nest, the male came