On the twelfth day of their life, the young birds added their voices to
the grand world-chorus in a faint, low "che-up," delivered with a
kingbird accent; then, also, they began to sit up calmly, and look over
the edge of the nest at what went on below, quite in the manner of
their fathers. Two days later, the first little king mounted the walls
of his castle, fluttered his wings, and apparently meditated the grand
plunge into the world outside of home. So absorbed was he in his new
emotions that he did not see the arrival of something to eat, and put in
a claim for his share, as usual. I thought he was about to bid farewell
to his birthplace. But I did not know him. Not till the youngest of the
family was ready to go did he step out of the nest,--the three were
inseparable. While I waited, expecting every moment to see him fly,
there was a sudden change in the air, and very shortly a furious storm
of wind and rain broke over us. Instantly every young bird subsided into
the nest, out of sight; and in a few minutes their mother came, and gave
them the protection of her presence.

Several days were spent by the oak-tree household in shaking out the
wings, taking observations of the world, dressing the feathers, and
partaking of luncheon every few minutes. Such a nestful of restlessness
I never saw; the constant wonder was that they managed not to fall out.
Often the three sat up side by side on the edge, white breasts shining
in the sun, and heads turning every way with evident interest. The dress
was now almost exactly like the parents'. No speckled bib, like the
bluebird or robin infant's, defaces the snowy breast; no ugly gray coat,
like the redwing baby's, obscures the beauty of the little kingbird's
attire. He enters society in full dress.

But each day, now, the trio grew in size, in repose of manner, and in
strength of voice; and before long they sat up hours at a time, patient,
silent, and ludicrously resembling the

"Three wise men of Gotham
Who went to sea in a bowl."

In spite of their grown-up looks and manners, they did not lose their
appetite; and from breakfast, at the unnatural hour of half past four in
the morning, till a late supper, when so dark that I could see only the
movement of feeding like a silhouette against the white clouds, all
through the day, food came to the nest every two minutes or less. Think
of the work of those two birds! Every mouthful brought during those
fifteen and a ha