148 YOUNG AMERICA IN FEATHERS. 



a pair with their two full-grown but still baby- 

 ish young. Approaching cautiously, I usually 

 found the parents on the ground busily hunting 

 insects, and the youngsters following closely, 

 ready to receive every morsel discovered. They 

 were, however, very well bred, with none of the 

 vulgar manners of those who scream and shout 

 and demand their rations. Later in the day I 

 often found the thrasher singing, a little beyond 

 the alders, on the breezy heights of Easpberry 

 Hill. His chosen place was an almost leafless 

 birch -tree, a favorite perch with all the birds of 

 the pasture, and there he sang for hours. 



" 'T was a song tliat rippled and reveled and ran 

 Ever back to the note whence it began, 

 Rising and falling, and never did stay. 

 Like a fountain that feeds on itself all day." 



Sometimes the singing was interrupted, for those 

 canny Young Americans knew their father's 

 song, and though he had doubtless stolen away 

 and left them foraging on the grass by the path, 

 they heard his voice and came after. While 

 he was pouring out his soul in ecstasy, and I 

 was listening with equal joy, those youngsters 

 came by easy stages nearer and nearer, till one 

 after the other alighted on the lower part of the 

 birch, and, hopping upward from branch to 

 branch, suddenly presented themselves before 

 him, begging in pretty baby fashion for some- 



