t, four or five
others may be looked for near by. The red-winged blackbird is a mormon in
very fact, and often a solitary male bird may be seen guarding a colony of
three or four nests, each with an attending female. A sentiment of
altruism seems indeed not unknown, as I have seen a female give a grub to
one of a hungry nestful, before passing on to brood her own eggs, yet
unhatched.

While looking for the blackbirds' nests we shall come across numerous
round, or oval, masses of dried weeds and grass--mice homes we may think
them; and the small, winding entrance concealed on one side tends to
confirm this opinion. Several will be empty, but when in one our fingers
touch six or eight tiny eggs, our mistake will be apparent. Long-billed
marsh wrens are the architects, and so fond are they of building that
frequently three or four unused nests are constructed before the little
chocolate jewels are deposited.

If we sit quietly for a few moments, one of the owners, overcome by wren
curiosity, will appear, clinging to a reed stalk and twitching his pert,
upturned tail, the badge of his family. Soon he springs up into the air
and, bubbling a jumble of liquid notes, sinks back into the recesses of
the cat-tails. Another and another repeat this until the marsh rings with
their little melodies.

If we seat ourselves and watch quietly we may possibly behold an episode
that is not unusual. The joyous songs of the little wrens suddenly give
place to cries of fear and anger; and this hubbub increases until at last
we see a sinister ripple flowing through the reeds, marking the advancing
head of a water snake.

The evil eyes of the serpent are bent upon the nearest nest, and toward it
he makes his way, followed and beset by all the wrens in the vicinity.
Slowly the scaly creature pushes himself up on the reeds; and as they bend
under his weight he makes his way the more easily along them to the nest.
His head is pushed in at the entrance, but an instant later the snake
twines downward to the water. The nest was empty. Again he seeks an
adjoining nest, and again is disappointed; and now, a small fish
attracting his attention, he goes off in swift pursuit, leaving untouched
the third nest in sight, that containing the precious eggs. Thus the
apparently useless industry of the tiny wrens has served an invaluable
end, and the tremulous chorus is again timidly taken up--little hymns of
thanksgiving we may imagine them now.

These an