The birds were very neat about their nest, both parents cleaning it daily. The excrement was not simply thrown out, as one would naturally expect, but was carefully removed to a distance.
On a platform built outside the window, a camera was placed bringing the nest somewhat less than ten feet away. The birds, accustomed to children's and painters' voices, paid no attention, and a series of photographs were taken of the family life in the tree.
One afternoon when the growing birds had come to fill their nest to overflowing, a severe storm came up, turning the tree-top and nest upside down. As we sat together inside the house our one thought was for the birds outside in the increasing storm. In the flashes of lightning we could see the mother, soaked by the rain, with head bent, her feathers spread out over her little ones, keeping her place in spite of the violent gusts of wind. Next morning one fat little bird, showing blue on his wings, was found dead on the ground, while the process of stuffing the remaining four went on above just as usual.
At last the nest was discovered empty, and by the cries and excitement on the lawn we traced the young birds to their perches in the trees, solicitously guarded by their anxious parents. They were coaxed and urged into trying short flights, and blundered about with an aimless and uncertain motion.
For several days we could distinguish them by the yellow of their beaks; but soon we lost them from sight, and "our Blue Jays" were no longer known amid the throng, though their memory will long live in our traditions and their story be well preserved in the camera studies that were so happily and harmlessly stolen.
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