XXXIII 



THE HANGING BIRD 



ONE morning early in May mother and I were out in 

 the apple orchard admiring the blossoms and looking 

 for the old mammoth bronze turkey's nest. Hoping we 

 might be able to track her to her nest, we were partly hid- 

 den behind a grape vine watching the old turkey as she 

 stole through the clover. Suddenly a bright orange streak 

 flashed before our eyes and a black and orange-yellow bird 

 about half way in size between a bluebird and a robin 

 alighted on a limb almost above our heads and began 

 caroling its song. I watched it almost breathless for fear 

 it might see us and fly. To me it was a new bird. I had 

 doubtless seen it before, but small boys do not always no- 

 tice all they see nor remember all they notice. This bird 

 was such a brilliant orange-yellow, with such black wings, 

 tail, and head, and its voice was so musical, that the 

 thought came to me at once^ "I wish this bird would build 

 its nest somewhere near, so I can watch it this summer." 

 Presently the bird flew away and I said to mother, 

 "What kind of bird was that?" She replied that it was a 

 "hanging bird,'' and to my question, "What is a hanging 

 bird ?" she explained that it was a bird that builds a hang- 

 ing nest. I asked if she supposed it possible that it would 

 nest where I could see it, for I had never seen a hanging 



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