No; one day, when we were busy building our nest--which is very pretty, almost as dainty as that of our neighbor the Humming Bird--she flew away to quite a distance to find some soft lining-stuff on which to lay her eggs. I had been fetching and carrying all day the lichens to put round the nest, which was hidden among the thick leaves on the bough of a tree, and was resting by the side of it. _Pewee! Pewee! Peer!_ "She will hear that," thought I, and again I sang it as loud as I could. "I'll bring that fellow down, too," said a boy, who surely had never heard anything about our happy, innocent lives, and as I peered down at him, he flung a large stone, which struck the bough on which I sat. Oh, how frightened I was, and how quickly I flew away! "He has killed my little mate," I thought. Still, I called in my plaintive way, _Pewee! Pewee! Peer!_ A faint, low cry led me to the foot of a large tree, and there on the ground lay my mate, struggling to rise and fly to me. "I think my wing is broken," she sobbed. "Oh, that wicked, wicked boy!" I petted her with my broad, flat beak, and after a while she was able to fly with me to our nest; but it was days and days before she was out of pain. I am sure if that boy sees my story in BIRDS, he will never give such an innocent _little_ creature misery again. I dress plainly, in a coat of olive and brown, and they _do_ say my manners are stiff and abrupt. But my voice is very sweet, and there is something about it which makes people say: "Dear little bird, sad little bird! what may your name be?" Then I answer: _Pewee! Pewee! Peer!_ THE WOOD PEWEE.