There's no better June fun than hunting for bobolinks' nests. When it comes to disturbing them, that is another question. The farmer may not like to have his meadow-grass trodden down before it is piled on the hay-wagon, but it can't be helped. And while the search is going on, there are so many other things coming to pass at the same time, quite unlooked for, that one sometimes laughs and sometimes cries. There are the bumblebees, for instance! The boys hadn't taken _them_ into account, and a fellow's shins begin to warn him of danger that is mostly past. And there are the nettles hiding in their own nooks on purpose to sting. And the little patches of smartweed which one has to cross in going from the east end of the meadow to the west end harbors crawling and hopping people that one doesn't see in time to avoid; and though they don't bite at all, they _do_ look and feel--well, most any boy knows how they feel if he cannot tell it. O, yes, it is fun hunting bobolinks' nests, if one respects the rights of one's neighbors in feathers. With note-book and pencil a boy can put down the date of hatch, and growth of quill and beak and strength, and a thousand things it is good to know about birds. Only, as a rule, a single boy never goes on a bobolink hunt. And it's of no use for a whole bevy of boys to load themselves with lead-pencils. They never have been known to put down a single item of observation under these circumstances. To make a business of studying bobolinks or other birds, a person must be all alone. And there isn't the temptation to pilfer when one is all alone. One catches sight of the father bobolink swinging and swaying on a stout but yielding weed stalk, singing for all he is worth, and one cannot steal, not _that_ time. But a nest would seldom be found if the foolish birds would keep a close mouth about the matter. It does seem as if they would learn after a while, but they don't. As soon as a stranger with two legs or four comes within sight of the spot, the birds set up what they intend for a warning cry, but which is in reality an "information call." Under its spell one can walk straight to the nest, which even yet, on account of its color and surroundings, may be taken for an innocent bunch of grass, provided one has as good eyes as the skunk has nose.