George wanted to see a blacksnake.
This wish was soon gratified, for as they passed some granite bowlders a snake, which was sunning himself on a bit of sand near by, made for the rocks. The boys grabbed stones, throwing them at him and killing him before he could gain cover.
"The birds will thank us for that," said Frank. "I've no doubt this scamp has devoured a good many of them this summer."
The boys then made a regular hunt through the alders, finding many nests, mostly with young ones in them, as it was the first of July, the experienced country lad discovering most of them, as he knew where to look for the nest of each variety, whether on a high or low tree, or on a bush or on the ground. Still George had the pleasure of running onto two or three nests himself. One was the cat-bird of Frank's story. The young ones had flown, but an old one soon appeared, scolding and flying close to the boys' heads.
"Look sharp, George, the little ones can't be far off, I know by the way the bird acts," exclaimed Frank.
THE LITTLE CHAP COULD FLY, HOWEVER, AND REFUSED TO BE CAUGHT.
True enough, after a short and exciting search George spied one on top of a bush. He knew it was a young bird by its short tail. Creeping cautiously up, the boy made a dash for him. The little chap could fly, however, and refused to be caught, hiding himself so cleverly that though the hunters looked for half an hour, they did not see him again.
Along with the cat-bird the brown thrasher and wood-thrush rear their young. A nest of the former was discovered in the fork of a bush near the ground. The mother was on it, allowing George to almost put his hand on her before she flew, to alight close by, making a curious clocking noise. The nest contained four little ones not over a day old. The cousins admired them, but took care not to handle the naked babies or disturb their home. Frank took a small book from his pocket and wrote something in it.
"What's that for?" asked George.