Tanglewood Lane and Skippack Creek 



place and hour, most of it bidding us 

 '^welcome/' 



And now, tempted by a little opening in 

 the bushes, we leave the road for a moment, 

 climb the bank, shaking down a shower 

 of blossoms in the effort, and, gaining the 

 top, disclose a broad field running along 

 the marge of a wood, and covered with 

 coarse weeds and briar and patches of 

 the mountain pink, with a fine panorama 

 of blue sky and miles of rolling country 

 out beyond. 



Another irate Catbird forgets his manners 

 and flies at us fiercely as we pass through; 

 but we in turn forget him quickly upon 

 hearing a faint, far voice from the upper 

 air, and looking above discover two Night- 

 hawks sailing along in quick, broken flight, 

 and ever and anon swooping down with a 

 rush and roar to capture a new tidbit for 

 the evening meal. 



But what is this that rises noiselessly 

 right at our feet and hurries away? Of a 

 truth the Field Sparrow, none other; and — 

 mirabile dictu! — here is his nest, without 



[105] 



