FEATHERED GEMS 



all, suddenly to encounter one which he has never in his 

 life seen alive. 



Such an event occurred this same season one day 

 toward evening. It was about twenty minutes before 

 supper time. I had already been afield that day, and 

 my first impulse was to play on the piano. But some- 

 thing moved me to stroll out back of the village street 

 and look for bird-migrants. On the edge of a cemetery 

 is a narrow strip of woodland bordering a meadow, 

 growing on a rather steep bank. Hardly had I looked 

 over the edge when I saw a warbler in some low shrub- 

 bery, half way down the slope. Just as I raised my 

 field-glass it flew, but in that instant I thought I saw 

 bold stripes on the head. Instantly iVudubon's picture 

 of the Worm-eating Warbler flashed into my mind. I 

 am fortunate enough to own a set of Audubon and it 

 was probably that which started me out as a child with 

 a passion for birds. Though confident that I had just 

 seen my first "Worm-eater," I must have a better view 

 to be sure. So I followed after it along the strip of 

 trees and shrubbery, hoping that I might start it again. 

 About a hundred yards further on a bird flew from the 

 ground which I thought was the one. It kept flitting 

 on and on, after brief stops among the patches of fern, 

 until I was about in despair of getting a good look at it. 

 Finally it seemed to stay in one spot and I stole up 

 with caution. Peering through the bushes, I was 

 thrilled and delighted to see it sitting motionless on a 

 log, within a very few feet of me, an undoubted Worm- 



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