THE PHCEBE'S PERCH. 223 



wild raspberry vines to carry the varied foliage 

 to the ground. Inside this beautiful tangle of 

 Nature's own arranging, was a perfect tent, so 

 thickly grown near the ground that a person 

 could hardly penetrate it without an axe, but 

 open and roomy above, with branches and twigs 

 enough to accommodate an army of birds. Be- 

 hind that waving green curtain of leaves took 

 place many dramas I longed to see; but I knew 

 that my appearance there would be a signal for 

 the whole scene to vanish, and with flit of wings 

 the dramatis personce to make their exit. So I 

 tried to possess my soul in patience, and to con- 

 tent myseK with the flashes and glimpses I could 

 catch through an opening here and there in the 

 leafy drapery. 



At one corner of the group stood a small dead 

 tree. This was the phoebe's customary perch, 

 and on those bare branches — first or last — 

 every visitor was sure to appear. On the lower 

 branch the robin paused, with worm in mouth, 

 on the way to his two-story nest under the eaves 

 of the barn. On the top spire the warbler baby 

 sat and stared at the world about it, till its 

 anxious parent could coax it to a more secluded 

 perch. From a side branch the veery poured 

 his wonderful song, and the cheery little song 

 sparrow uttered his message of good will for all 

 to hear and heed. Here the red-headed wood- 



