Then this pair of little fly-catchers did what I had never seen birds
do before; they pulled the nest to pieces and rebuilt it in a
peach-tree not many rods away, where a brood was successfully reared.
The nest was here exposed to the direct rays of the noon-day sun, and
to shield her young when the heat was greatest, the mother-bird would
stand above them with wings slightly spread, as other birds have been
know to do under like circumstances.

To what extent the cat-bird is a nest-robber I have no evidence,
but that feline mew of hers, and that flirting, flexible tail, suggest
something not entirely bird-like.

Probably the darkest tragedy of the nest is enacted when a snake
plunders it. All birds and animals, so far I have observed, behave
in a peculiar manner toward a snake. They seem to feel something of
the loathing toward it that the human species experiences. The bark of
a dog when he encounters a snake is different from that which he gives
out on any other occasion; it is a mingled note of alarm, inquiry,
and disgust.

One day a tragedy was enacted a few yards from where I was sitting with
a book; two song-sparrows trying to defend their nest against a black
snake. The curious, interrogating note of a chicken who had suddenly
come upon the scene in his walk caused me to look up from my reading.
There were the sparrows, with wings raised in a way peculiarly
expressive of horror and dismay, rushing about a low clump of grass
and bushes. Then, looking more closely, I saw the glistening form of
the black snake and the quick movement of his head as he tried to seize
the birds. The sparrows darted about and through the grass and weeds,
trying to beat the snake off. Their tails and wings were spread,