oof dressing,
which the birds squeeze out with their bills from a special gland, and
which they rub into every part of their plumage. The youngsters, now grown
as large as their parents, have become proficient in fly-catching or
berry-picking, as the case may be. Henceforth they forage for themselves,
although if we watch carefully we may still see a parent's love prompting
it to give a berry to its big offspring (indistinguishable save for this
attention), who greedily devours it without so much as a wing flutter of
thanks.

Two courses are open to the young birds who have been so fortunate as to
escape the dangers of nestlinghood. They may unite in neighbourly flocks
with others of their kind, as do the blackbirds of the marshes; or they
may wander off by themselves, never going very far from their summer home,
but perching alone each night in the thick foliage of some sheltering
bush.

How wonderfully the little fellow adapts himself to the radical and sudden
change in his life! Before this, his world has been a warm, soft-lined
nest, with ever anxious parents to shelter him from rain and cold, or to
stand with half-spread wings between him and the burning rays of the sun.
He has only to open his mouth and call for food and a supply of the
choicest morsels appears and is shoved far down his throat. If danger
threatens, both parents are ready to fight to the last, or even willing to
give their lives to protect him. Little wonder is it that the young birds
are loth to leave; we can sympathise heartily with the last weaker
brother, whose feet cling convulsively to the nest, who begs piteously for
"just one more caterpillar!" But the mother bird is inexorable and stands
a little way out of reach with the juiciest morsel she can find. Once out,
the young bird never returns. Even if we catch the little chap before he
finishes his first flight and replace him, the magic spell of home is
broken, and he is out again the instant our hand frees him.

What a change the first night brings! Yet with unfailing instinct he
squats on some twig, fluffs up his feathers, tucks his wee head behind his
wing, and sleeps the sleep of his first adult birdhood as soundly as if
this position of rest had been familiar to him since he broke through the
shell.

We admire his aptitude for learning; how quickly his wings gain strength
and skill; how soon he manages to catch his own dinner. But how all this
pales before the accomplishment of a y