80 HOMING WITH THE BIRDS 



leg and strength of wing to immerse him so com- 

 pletely in crude oil, unless from some high perch 

 he saw an unfortunate small frog leap into a 

 pool of oil, and like the frog mistaking it for water, 

 he plunged also. Never before nor since have I 

 seen a feathered creature make such an abject 

 spectacle as did this oil-and-dirt-covered shitepoke, 

 but my sympathies were so entirely with the bird 

 that it never occurred to me to take his picture 

 before giving him a bath. As was the case with 

 the lark, he was so miserable and so cowed in his 

 misery that he stood in the washbowl of my bath- 

 room and allowed me to begin at his beak with a 

 toothbrush and gradually move onward, cleaning 

 every feather on him, and the skin as well, without 

 making the least effort to get away; but when he 

 was finished, thoroughly dry, and had rested over 

 night, his broken spirit disappeared. He was ready 

 to fly, also to fight for his freedom the instant he 

 was uncovered in the morning. 



There is nothing in an experience I once had 

 with a pipit lark, except proof that birds are as 

 subject to accident and injury as human beings. 

 While I was driving one evening about six o'clock, 

 a pipit lark on wing arose above a snake fence on 

 one side of the highway, and crossed the road a 

 few rods ahead of my carriage, dropping low as he 

 flew. I thought he intended to pass between the 

 rails of the fence he was headed toward and alight 

 in a clover field. Whatever might have been his 



