A Book on Birds 



the dull olive of the back, the ashen blue 

 of the throat, the bright sulphur yellow of 

 the breast, and the rare, pinkish-brown 

 beneath the long tail-feathers. Though a 

 trifle less in size than the Robin, his fine 

 crest makes him look larger, and gives 

 him an aspect of great energy and ani- 

 mation. 



But dinner waits! — and I am still out 

 in the fields a mile away. Hurrying home- 

 ward, I notice that the two Belted King- 

 fishers, whose acquaintance I made years 

 ago along the winding reaches of that 

 Stony Creek I love, have reappeared in 

 their old haunts a week or two earlier than 

 usual. They are in splendid spirits and 

 have evidently had a good winter — prob- 

 ably spending it not very far south. You 

 can always be sure of their presence before 

 you see them from their cry, which is an 

 exact reproduction of a watchman's rattle, 

 heard at a distance. 



They start up hurriedly upon my 

 approach and skurry along above the 

 surface of the water in precipitate flight; 



[52] 



