The frisky red squirrel was doubtless the culprit. The other nest was
in a maple sapling, within a few yards of the little rustic
summer-house already referred to. The first attempt of the season,
I suspect, had failed in a more secluded place under the hill; so the
pair had come up nearer the house for protection. The male sang in the
trees near by for several days before I chanced to see the nest.
The very morning, I think, it was finished, I saw a red squirrel
exploring a tree but a few yards away; he probably knew what the
singing meant as well as I did. I did not see the inside of the nest,
for it was almost instantly deserted, the female having probably laid
a single egg, which the squirrel had devoured.
If I were a bird, in building my nest I should follow the example of
the bobolink, placing it in the midst of a broad meadow, where there
was no spear of grass, or flower or growth unlike another to mark its
site. I judge that the bobolink escapes the dangers to which I have
adverted as few or no other birds do. Unless the mowers come along at
an earlier date than she has anticipated, that is, before July lst,
or a skunk goes nosing through the grass, which is unusual, she is as
safe as bird well can be in the great open of nature.
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