d her
mouthful, and then either slipped into the nest, covering her bantlings
completely, or rested upon the edge for several minutes. There was
always a marked difference in the conduct of the pair.

Six days the kingbird babies were unseen from below; but on the seventh
day of their life two downy gray caps were lifted above the edge of the
dwelling, accompanied by two small yellow beaks, half open for what
goods the gods might provide. After that event, whenever the tender
mother sat on her nest, two--and later three--little heads showed
plainly against her satiny white breast, as if they were resting there,
making a lovely picture of motherhood.

Not for many days lasted the open-mouth baby stage in these rapidly
developing youngsters. Very soon they were pert and wide awake, looking
upon the green world about them with calm eyes, and opening mouths only
when food was to be expected. Mouthfuls, too, were no longer of the
minute order; they were large enough for the parents themselves, and of
course plain to be seen. Sometimes, indeed, as in the case of a big
dragon-fly, the father was obliged to hold on, while the young hopeful
pulled off piece after piece, until it was small enough for him to
manage; occasionally, too, when the morsel was particularly hard, the
little king passed it back to the giver, who stood waiting, and received
it again when it had been apparently crushed or otherwise prepared, so
that he could swallow it.

Midsummer was at hand. The voices of young birds were heard on every
side. The young thrasher and the robin chirped in the grove; sweet
bluebird and pewee baby cries came from the shrubbery; the golden-wing
leaned far out of his oaken walls, and called from morning to night.
Hard-working parents rushed hither and thither, snatching, digging, or
dragging their prey from every imaginable hiding-place. It was woful
times in the insect world, so many new hungry mouths to be filled. All
this life seemed to stir the young kings: they grew restless; they were
late. Their three little heads, growing darker every day, bobbed this
way and that; they changed places in the nest; they thrust out small
wings; above all and through all, they violently preened themselves. In
fact, this elaborate dressing of feathers was their constant business
for so long a time that I thought it no wonder the grown-up kingbird
pays little attention to his dress; he does enough pluming in the
nursery to last a lifetime.