IN THE ORCHARD 287 



trooping back by easy stages the main body of 

 the early migrants, Humming Birds and Swal- 

 lows, Warblers and Flycatchers. The more deli- 

 cate members of the feathered army are slowly 

 followed by the hardier varieties, many of which 

 linger about through the golden days of autumn, 

 even until bleak November is again upon us. 



During the warm, smoky days of Indian sum- 

 mer the migration seems to halt for a time, as 

 though the birds, too, are quite deceived into 

 believing that the balmy air really presages 

 the return of the season of joy and song. But 

 the cold storm, which is pretty sure to follow 

 these halcyon days, starts them southward again 

 in a hurry, and only the permanent residents 

 are left to cheer us. Soon the Woodchuck seeks 

 his winter quarters, the Red Squirrel hunts closer 

 cover in the shelter of the pines, and through 

 the bare limbs of the old trees sifts the driving 

 snow. The walls are buried in rapidly growing 

 drifts and the world of green becomes a world of 

 white. 



As the years go by, each season brings to the 

 orchard its feathered visitors with their songs of 

 gladness, some tarrying for a long stay, some 

 hurrying on to more attractive scenes. If one 

 were but to observe the birds that call here dur- 

 ing the year, the list would be a long one and 

 many interesting stories could be told. Withal 

 it is a delightful spot, where both bird and man 

 find much to make the heart glad. 



