THE RETURN OF THE BIRDS. 13 



ffhen he told us so softly and plaintively that if we 

 pleased, spring had come ? Indeed, there is nothing 

 in the return of the birds more curious and suggestive 

 than in the first appearance, or rumors of the appear- 

 ance, of this little blue-ooat. The bird at first seems 

 a mere wandering voice in the air ; one hears its call 

 or carol on some bright March morning, but is un- 

 certain of its source or direction ; it falls like a drop 

 of rain when no cloud is visible ; one looks and list- 

 ens, but to no purpose. The weather changes, per- 

 haps a cold snap with snow comes on, and it may be 

 a week before I hear the note again, and this time or 

 the next perchance see the bird sitting on a stake in 

 the fence lifting his wing as he calls cheerily to his 

 mate. Its notes now become daily more frequent ; 

 the birds multiply, and, flitting from point to point, 

 call and warble more confidently and gleefully. 

 Their boldness increases till one sees them hovering 

 with a saucy, inquiring air about barns and out- 

 buildings, peeping into dove-cotes, and stable win- 

 dows, inspecting knot-holes and pump-trees, intent 

 only on a place to nest. They wage war against 

 Tobins and wrens, pick quarrels with swallows, and 

 teem to deliberate for days over the policy of taking 

 rorcible possession of one of the mud-houses of the 

 latter. But as the season advances they drift more 

 into the background. Schemes of conquest which 

 they at first seemed bent upon are abandoned, and 

 they settle down very quietly in their old quarters in 

 ■'emote stumpy fields. 



