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in a community who thinks as she does is better than half 
a dozen bird wardens.” 
“T know that bird, too,” said Dave, “but on the hill 
where I live he stays in the river woods and only comes 
out to the lane edge to get wild cherries and blackcaps 
and shadberries. We call it Wood Robin, ’cause it’s 
shaped like a Robin and runs on the ground like one, only 
it’s different in colour. Do you suppose they are the 
same bird? Or are there two that seem alike, like the 
Nighthawk and Whip-poor-will?” 
“Wood Thrush, Song Thrush, Wood Robin, are all one; 
the shy bird of river woods or the lovely musician of gar- 
dens and home grounds, where they are protected and 
dogs reign instead of cats. This place is vocal with them all 
through May, June, and wellinto July. Not only Birdland 
and the orchard, but the garden and trees on the lawn. 
“One afternoon last June, when Goldilocks lay in her 
hammock under the spruces, four were singing where I 
could see all at once, — and oh, that song! As the bird 
sits in a tree-top with head thrown back and pours it 
forth, ‘the song of the Wood Thrush is one of the finest 
specimens of bird music that America can produce. 
Among all the bird songs I have ever heard, it is second 
only in quality to that of the Hermit Thrush. Its tones 
are solemn and serene. They seem to harmonize with the 
sounds of the forest, the whispering breeze, the purling 
water, or the falling of raindrops in the summer woods.’ 
—E. H. Forsusu. 
“This Thrush has a sharp alarm note, ‘Pit! Pit!’ and 
a sort of whistle that he seems to use as a signal. Fruit 
