112 THE ''BIRD OF THE MUSICAL WING:' 



The fence had never been painted, the wind and 

 weather of many years had toned it down to the 

 hue of a tree-trunk, and it was so thoroughly 

 decorated with lichens that it had come to look 

 almost like a bit of nature's work, — if nature 

 could have made anything so ugly. I believe 

 the birds regarded it as a special arrangement 

 for their benefit. Certainly they used it freely. 



But beyond the fence was a genuine bit of 

 nature's handiwork in which man had no part : 

 an extended and luxuriant tangle, bordering the 

 river, of alder and other bushes, with here and 

 there a young tree, elm, apple, cedar, or wild 

 cherry ; and winding through it a bewitching 

 path, made by cows in their unconventional and 

 meandering style and for their own convenience, 

 penetrating every charming nook in the shrub- 

 bery, and so unnoticeable at its entrance that 

 one might pass it and not susi3ect its presence. 

 In this path bushes met over their heads, often 

 not high enough for ours, wild roses perfumed 

 the air, and meadow-sweet lingered long after 

 it was gone from haunts less cool and shaded. 

 Every turn offered a new and fascinating pic- 

 ture, and a stroll through the irresistible way 

 always began or ended my day's study. 



For several days following my happy discov- 

 ery I spent much time watching domestic affairs 

 in the poplar-tree. The little matron was not a 



