Only by patiently watching the suspicious bird, as she lingered near
with food in her beak, did I discover its whereabouts. That brood is
safe, I thought, beyond doubt. But it was not; the nest was pillaged
one night, either by an owl, or else by a rat that had climbed into the
vine, seeking an entrance to the house. The mother-bird, after
reflecting upon her ill-luck about a week, seemed to resolve to
try a different system of tactics and to throw all appearances of
concealment aside. She built a nest few yards from the house beside
the drive, upon a smooth piece of greensward. There was not a weed or
a shrub or anything whatever to conceal it or mark its site.
The structure was completed and incubation had begun before I
discovered what was going on. "Well, well," I said, looking down upon
the bird almost at my feet, "this is going to the other extreme indeed;
now, the cats will have you." The desperate little bird sat there day
after day, looking like a brown leaf pressed down in the short green
grass. As the weather grew hot, her position became very trying.
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