1G A-BIRDING ON A BRONCO. 



lighted there to whip the water out of their fea- 

 thers and sun themselves before flying off. I 

 never tired watching the little bathers on the 

 beach. One morning a pipit came tipping and 

 tilting along the sand, peeping in its wild, sad 

 way. Another time a rosy -breasted linnet stepped 

 to the edge of the pond and dipped down daintily 

 where the water glistened in the sunshine, sending 

 a delicate circle rippling off from its own shadow. 

 Then the handsome white and golden-crowned spar- 

 rows came and bathed in adjoining pools. When 

 one set of birds had flown off to dry their feathers, 

 others took their places. A pair of blackbirds 

 walked down the sand beach, but acted absurdly, 

 as if they did not know what to do in water — it 

 was a wonder any of the birds did in dry Califor- 

 nia ! Two pieces of wood lay in the shallows, 

 and the blackbirds flew to them and began to 

 promenade. The female tilted her tail as if the 

 sight of herself in the pond made her dizzy, but 

 the male finally edged down gingerly and took a 

 dip or two with his bill, after which both flew off. 



On the mud flats on one side of the pond, bee- 

 birds were busy flycatching, perching on sticks 

 near the ground and making short sallies over the 

 flat. Turtle doves flew swiftly past, and high 

 over head hawks and buzzards circled and let 

 themselves be borne by the wind. 



Swallows came to the pond to get mud for their 

 nests. A long line of them would light on the 



