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136
My Studio Neighbors
·
W. Hamilton Gibson
27
By
a
very
little
persuasion
with
our
finger-tip
the
division
readily
yields,
and
we
discover
the
summit
of
the
nest
to
be
a
mere
rim--a
top
story,
as
it
were--with
a
full-sized
nest
beneath
it
as
a
foundation.
Has
our
warbler,
then,
come
back
to
his
last
year's
home
and
fitted
it
up
anew
for
this
summer's
brood?
Such
would
be
a
natural
supposition,
did
we
not
see
that
the
foundation
is
as
fresh
in
material
as
the
summit.
Perhaps,
then,
the
bird
has
already
raised
her
first
spring
brood,
and
has
simply
extended
her
May
domicile,
and
provided
a
new
nursery
for
a
second
family.
But
either
supposition
is
quickly
dispelled
as
we
further
examine
the
nest;
for
in
separating
the
upper
compartment
we
have
just
caught
a
glimpse
of
what
was,
perhaps
only
yesterday,
the
hollow
of
a
perfect
nest;
and,
what
is
more
to
the
point
of
my
story,
the
hollow
contains
an
egg--perhaps
two,
in
which
case
they
will
be
very
dissimilar,
one
of
delicate
white
with
faint
spots
of
brown
on
its
larger
end,
the
putting
of
the
warbler,
the
other
much
larger,
with
its
greenish
surface
entirely
speckled
with
brown,
and
which,
if
we
have
had
any
experience
in
bird-nesting,
we
immediately
recognize
as
the
mischievous
token
of
the
cow-bird.
We
have
discovered
a
most
interesting
curiosity
for
our
natural-history
cabinet--the
embodiment
of
a
presumably
new
form
of
intelligence
in
the
divine
plan
looking
to
the
survival
of
the
fittest.
It
is
not
known
how
many
years
or
centuries
it
has
taken
the
little
warbler
to
develop
this
clever
resource
to
outwit
the
cow-bird.
It
is
certain,
however,
that
the
little
mother
has
got
tired
of
being
thus
imposed
upon,
and
is
the
first
of
her
kind
on
record
which
has
taken
these
peculiar
measures
for
rising
above
her
besetting
trouble.
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