Several times the bit of
cloth slipped from the thorns as the birds pulled upon it; but as
often as it did they carried it back and fastened it more securely,
till at last it grew so snarled that they could get no more long
threads, when they left it for good.
That same day I carried out some bright-colored bits of worsted and
ribbon, and scattered them on the grass. The birds soon found them and
used them in completing their nest. For a while a gayer little
dwelling was never seen in a tree. The bright bits of color in the
soft gray of the walls gave the nest always a holiday appearance, in
good keeping with the high spirits of the orioles. But by the time the
young had chipped the shell, and the joyousness of nest-building had
given place to the constant duties of filling hungry little mouths,
the rains and the sun of summer had bleached the bright colors to a
uniform sober gray.
That was a happy family from beginning to end. No accident ever befell
it; no enemy disturbed its peace. And when the young birds had flown
away to the South, I took down the nest which I had helped to build,
and hung it in my study as a souvenir of my bright little neighbors.
VI. THE BUILDERS.
[Illustration]
A curious bit of wild life came to me at dusk one day in the
wilderness.
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