With unbounded delight I watched her come and go a dozen times in less than that number of minutes, bringing at each arrival a quantity of vegetable fiber soft as a silken cobweb, adjusted invariably while standing inside the nest and turning completely around several times as if shaping the interior to her better satisfaction. She reached far over and pulled the fluffy cotton into place, beating it here and jerking it there, sinking her little breast into and shaping it to fit the soft contours of her body; or, covering the outside with trailing wings, beat them rapidly against the felted foundation which at these times was entirely hidden beneath their iridescence. Though still unfinished the delicate structure was lichen-decorated, simply perfect so far as it went, in this case defying the assertion that humming birds' nests are always completed before this ornate decoration is added. [Illustration: The changes a Feather undergoes in turning from Green to Yellow. 6-99 COPYRIGHT 1899, NATURE STUDY PUB. CO., CHICAGO.] In the succeeding weeks--weeks in which I entertained an angel, not unawares, her two ways of approach were unvaried; either passing the nest entirely to rise from beneath, or, hovering over and over, drop down as lightly as a snowflake or the petal of an apple blossom. And such a pretty proprietary air--the complacence and importance for which great possessions are often answerable! As if the trees were there for her alone, the garden made simply for her convenience! After working rapidly for two full hours she paused to rest upon a dead twig, opening and closing her wings in the twinkling fashion of a bluebird, an exercise prefacing a breakfast taken in the nearest tree as she poised beneath the leaves. With appetite appeased she dropped upon the unfinished cradle and sat so still for twenty minutes that I was certain an egg was deposited. Doubtless the misfortunes attending previous nesting had interrupted the even tenor of life, the second housekeeping was more urgent than was anticipated. For ten minutes more her form was motionless though her head moved from side to side in a ceaseless surveillance--a warbler lunching in the next tree glanced casually in her direction, and was evidently just wild with curiosity. The situation was too much for him; he left his post hurriedly, flew over her and looked down, flew under and looked up, peered at her from an airy poise, still undecided as to who was rocking in that wonderful cradle. Craning his neck he hopped along the branch till he stood beside her, so near that his yellow coat literally brushed her garments, his attitude a quick pantomime of his thoughts, half paralyzed with questioning surprise as to what this remnant of a bird might be, not by any means to be bought _cheap_ because it was a remnant.