A CATBIRD BLUEBERRY ING. 159 



down on a fence post as light as a feather, 

 looked over to where I sat motionless under my 

 tree, hesitated, flirted her tail expressively as 

 who should say, " Can I trust her ? " then 

 glanced down to the berry-loaded bushes on the 

 ground, and turned again her soft dark eyes on 

 me. I hardly breathed, and she flew lightly to 

 the first wire of the fence, paused, then to the 

 second, still keeping an eye my way. At that 

 point she bent an earnest gaze on the blueberry 

 patch, turning this way and that, and I believe 

 selecting the very berry she desired ; for she 

 suddenly dropped like a shot, seized the berry, 

 and was back on the post, as if the ground were 

 hot. There she rested long enough for me to 

 see what she held in her beak, and then disap- 

 peared in the silent way she had come. In a 

 moment she returned ; for it was not for herself 

 she was berrying, but for some speckled-breasted 

 beauty shyly hiding in the alder thicket below. 



As the babies' month drew near its close, and 

 August stood threateningly on the threshold, 

 sometimes I heard young folk at their lessons. 

 Most charming was a scion of the chewink family 

 learning to ring his silver bell. I could not see 

 him, — he was hidden behind the leafy screen 

 across the river ; but happily sounds are not so 

 easily concealed as sights, and the little perform- 

 ance explained itself as clearly as if I had had 



