We had not waited long when the head of the cuckoo family appeared. He saw us instantly, and, I regret to say, was no more reconciled to our presence than he had been on the previous occasion; but he showed his displeasure in a different way. He rushed about in the trees, crying, "cuck-a-ruck, cuck-a-ruck," running out even to the tip of slender branches that seemed too slight to bear his weight. When his feelings entirely overcame him he flew away, and though we remained fifteen minutes, no one came to the nest. The day after this display of unkindly feeling toward us we passed down the cuckoo path, saw Madam on the nest, and at once determined to wait and see what new demonstration her mate would invent to express his emotions. My comrade threw herself down full length on the dead leaves beside the path, where she could bask in the sunlight, while I sat in the shade close by. After some time we saw the cuckoo stealing in by a roundabout back way through the low growth in the edge of the wood. He was coming with supplies, for a worm dangled from his beak. He had nearly reached the nest--in fact was not two feet away--when his eyes fell upon us. He stopped as if paralyzed. We remained motionless, almost breathless, but he did not take his eyes off us, nor attempt to relieve himself of that worm. Still we did not move; arms began to ache, feet tingled with "going to sleep," every joint stiffened, and I began to be afraid I should find myself turned to stone. Still that bird never moved an eyelid, so far as we could see. It was fully twenty-five minutes that we three stared at each other, all struck dumb. But Nature asserted herself in us before it did in him. The sun was hot, and the mosquitoes far from dumb. We yielded as gracefully as we could under the circumstances, and left him there as motionless as a "mounted specimen" in a glass case. The next morning we started out rather earlier than usual, half expecting to find Master Cuckoo grown to that perch. It appeared, however, that he had torn himself away, for he was not to be seen. The little mother, who was on the nest, had readily learned that we intended no harm, but her peppery little spouse learned nothing; he was just as unreconciled to us the last day as the first. This time he tried to keep out of sight. First we heard his call far off, then a low "cuck-a-ruck" quite near, to which she replied with a gentle "coo-oo" hardly above her breath. It was soothing, but it did not altogether soothe. He came up from behind us with another dangling worm in his mouth, slipped silently through the bushes to the nest, and in a moment departed by the back way without a word. Then we went nearer, looked once more upon the shy but brave little mother, and went our way. We did not suspect it, but that was our last sight of the cuckoo family at home; the next day the place was empty and deserted.