mage in the most frantic manner, as if
their lives depended on being off in an instant. It lasted but a few
moments: the parents flew away; the youngsters calmed down.

In a short time all the nestlings were accustomed to going out upon the
branch, where they clustered together in a little row, and called and
plumed alternately; but one after another slipped back into the dear old
home, which they apparently found it very hard to leave. Often, upon
coming out of the house, after the imperative demands of luncheon or
dinner had dragged me for a time away from my absorbing study, not a
kingbird, old or young, could be seen. The oak was deserted, the nest
perfectly silent.

"They have flown!" I thought.

But no: in a few minutes small heads began show above the battlements;
and in ten seconds after the three little kings were all in sight,
chirping and arranging their dress with fresh vigor, after their nap.

Not one of the young family tried his wings till he was seventeen days
old. The first one flew perhaps fifteen feet, to another branch of the
native tree, caught at a cluster of leaves, held on a few seconds, then
scrambled to a twig and stood up. The first flight accomplished! After
resting some minutes, he flew back home, alighting more easily this
time, and no doubt considered himself a hero. Whatever his feelings, it
was evident that he could fly, and he was so pleased with his success
that he tried it again and again, always keeping within ten or fifteen
feet of home. Soon his nest-fellows began to follow his example; and
then it was interesting to see them, now scattered about the broad old
tree, and then, in a little time, all back in the nest, as if they had
never left it. After each excursion came a long rest, and every time
they went out they flew with more freedom. Never were young birds so
loath to leave the nursery, and never were little folk so clannish. It
looked as if they had resolved to make that homestead on the top branch
their headquarters for life, and, above all, never to separate. That
night, however, came the first break, and they slept in a droll little
row, so close that they looked as if welded into one, and about six feet
from home. For some time after they had settled themselves the mother
sat by them, as if she intended to stay; but when it had grown quite
dark, her mate sailed out over the tree calling; and she,--well, the
babies were grown up enough to be out in the world,--she went