appeared to feel insulted, and in a few minutes stole back, and took
revenge in a most peculiar way; he hovered under the twig on which the
three were sitting, their dumpy tails hanging down in a row, and
actually twitched the feathers of those tails! Even that did not
frighten the little ones; they leaned far over and stared at their
assailant, but nothing more. I looked carefully to see if the vireo had
a nest on that tree, so strange a thing it seemed for a bird to do. The
tree was quite tall, with few branches, an oak grown in a close grove,
and I am sure there was no vireo nest on it; so that it was an
absolutely gratuitous insult.

In addition to supplying the constantly growing appetites of the family,
the male kingbird did not forget to keep a sharp lookout for intruders;
for, until the youngsters could take care of themselves, he was bound to
protect them. One day a young robin alighted nearer to the little group
than he considered altogether proper, and he started, full tilt, toward
him. As he drew near, the alarmed robin uttered his baby cry, when
instantly the kingbird wheeled and left; nor did he notice the stranger
again, although he stayed there a long time. But when an old robin came
to attend to his wants, that was a different matter; the kingbird went
at once for the grown-up bird, thus proving that he spared the first one
because of his babyhood.

It was not till they were three weeks old that the little kings began to
fly any lower than about the level of their nest. Then one came to the
fence, and the others to the top of a grape-trellis. I hoped to see some
indication of looking for food, and I did; but it was all looking up and
calling on the parents; not an eye was turned earthward. Now the young
ones began to fly more nearly together, and one could see that a few
days' more practice would enable them to fly in a compact little flock.
Shortly before this they had ceased to come to the native tree at night,
and by day extended their wanderings so far that sometimes they were not
heard for hours. Regularly, however, as night drew near, the migrating
cry sounded in the grove, and upon going out I always found them
together,--three

"Silver brown little birds,
Sitting close in the branches."

These interesting bantlings were twenty-four days old when it became
necessary for me to leave them, as they had already left me. It was a
warm morning, near the end of July, and about half an hour bef