through the storm, I think the head of the family remained in a
sheltered part of the tree, but he did not come to the usual twigs which
were so exposed. I know he was near, for I heard him, and occasionally
saw him standing with body horizontal instead of upright, as usual, the
better to maintain his position against the wind. At about the ordinary
intervals the sitter left her nest, without so much as a leaf to cover
it, and was absent perhaps half as long as common, but not once did her
mate assume her post.

How were this pair distinguished from each other, since there is no
difference in their dress? First, by a fortunate peculiarity of marking;
the male had one short tail feather, that, when he was resting, showed
its white tip above the others, and made a perfectly distinct and (with
a glass) plainly visible mark. Later, when I had become familiar with
the very different manners of the pair, I did not need this mark to
distinguish the male, though it remained _en evidence_ all through the
two months I had them under observation.

During the period of sitting, life went on with great regularity. The
protector of the nest perched every night in a poplar-tree across the
yard, and promptly at half past four o'clock every morning began his
matins. Surprised and interested by an unfamiliar song, I rose one day
at that unnatural hour to trace it home. It was in that enchanting time
when men are still asleep in their nests, and even "My Lord Sun" has
not arisen from his; when the air is sweet and fresh, and as free from
the dust of man's coming and going as if his tumults did not exist. It
was so still that the flit of a wing was almost startling. The water
lapped softly against the shore; but who can

"Write in a hook the morning's prime,
Or match with words that tender sky"?

The song that had called me up was a sweet though simple strain, and it
was repeated every morning while his mate was separated from him by her
nest duties. I can find no mention of it in books, but I had many
opportunities to study it, and thus it was. It began with a low kingbird
"Kr-r-r" (or rolling sound impossible to express by letters), without
which I should not have identified it at first, and it ended with a very
sweet call of two notes, five tones apart, the lower first, after a
manner suggestive of the phoebe--something like this:
"Kr-r-r-r-r-ree-be! Kr-r-r-r-r-ree-be!" In the outset, and I think I
heard the very first attempt,