With very little difficulty these birds could carry a twig six or eight inches long and a quarter of an inch in diameter. Several of these large twigs were laid loosely among the forks of three small branches and then a more compact structure was placed upon this foundation. This was made of smaller twigs, with roots and stems of Bermuda grass twisted among them. A lining composed of horse hair, grass, cotton, a piece of satin ribbon some three inches long, bits of paper, string and rag completed the home. There was very little weaving in the construction of the nest and the most wonderful as well as the most curious thing about it was how it could be made so loosely and not fall apart during the very high winds which we have in central Texas. While the eggs were being hatched there was a violent storm which lasted all day, and several times I saw the tree bend nearly to the ground. Each time I was afraid I should see the destruction of this home, which had become so interesting to me. As I watched the tree writhe in the storm I began to appreciate the wisdom shown by the bird in the selection of the place for his nest, for it was in the part of the tree least disturbed by the wind and most thoroughly protected from the rain. During the long nights the mocking bird often sang to his mate as she patiently sat on the nest. Nothing can be more delightful than the song of our mocking birds, heard when the moonlight makes the night almost as light as the day and the south wind is ladened with the delicious odors of roses and honeysuckle. At last the eggs were hatched and five baby birds demanded food. The parent birds worked constantly from dawn till dark, but, from the loud "_ce-ce-ce_" which greeted them each time they neared the nest, one might suppose the supply of food never equaled the demand. A young mocking bird seems all mouth and legs. He is a comical little creature with his scant covering of gray down, long legs, large feet and ever-open mouth, with its lining of bright orange. As the old bird approaches the little ones squat flat in the nest, throw back their heads and open their enormous mouths, which must seem like so many bottomless pits to the parent birds when they are tired. If my favorite cat, Mephistopheles, tried to take his nap anywhere in the vicinity of their nest Jack and Jill would fly at him, screaming, and, boldly lighting upon his head, try to peck at his eyes. He would strike at them and spit, but they would only fly upon the fence or rose-trellis and in a moment dart at him again. The battle would continue until Mephistopheles retired to a safer place. I have seen many such battles, but never one where the bird was not victorious.