WITH THE THICKET BIRDS 123 



night come the feathered kin in legions, waves 

 of migration, and the migrant noted in field or 

 wood is but the representative of his myriad 

 brothers, hurrying, hastening into the North- 

 land. A vast multitude embracing a mighty 

 continent from coast to coast, all moved by the 

 same guiding motive stirring within each feath- 

 ered breast, they advance steadily. They come 

 — a vast invading army of sprite soldiers that 

 may be checked but never stayed until the goal 

 is reached. 



Thus the morning paeans that awakened the 

 wood were not only a song-thanksgiving for a 

 safe return to the Northland and a perfect 

 morning, but also were promises for the future, 

 soon to be fulfilled. Just as the sun glowed 

 warm, a yellow warbler sang from a catkin- 

 laden willow-clump — it is almost impossible to 

 think of this little fellow dissociated from yel- 

 low-pollened pussy willows, yellow-green foli- 

 age, and yellow sunlight; — and soon a catbird 

 came rustling over the leaves with an air of 

 occupancy and sprang to a low perch and flirted 

 himself a time or two as he surveyed the tent. 

 Other new-comers were not lacking; for soon a 

 tiny flycatcher sounded " Pet-tic pet-tic! " from 



