120 OUT WITH THE BIRDS 



The oriole's was not by any means the first 

 bird-song of the season to resound from the 

 poplars, for now that it had turned warm during 

 the day, and he had become mellowed all 

 through, a tiny Tennessee warbler had been 

 rippling away most vehemently; for days an 

 amorous turtle dove had almost been cooing his 

 head off; white-throat and Harris sparrows had 

 sung a hundred sweet minor duets and trios and 

 quartettes; several cock robins had been singing 

 heartily on every comfortable evening for three 

 weeks ; and lately even the wren and the thrasher 

 had arrived in the place and tuned up with the 

 company. But the oriole somehow was the 

 cause of it, and that evening the poplar wood on 

 the outskirts of the little town had another oc- 

 cupant, for a little tent was pitched among the 

 trees, and the new-comer had come to stay. 



What a time of tense movement for the birds, 

 are the May days to the northward; and what a 

 time of joy, then, is the wake-up chorus at day- 

 peep! Here the nights are so short that the 

 dawn seems to slip in almost on the heels of the 

 midnight twilight; and this is all to the liking 

 of the birds — busy little creatures that merely 

 gease from their tireless activity of the day be- 



