The Songsters of the Skokie 25 



season might not find him in the regulation suit of yellow, 

 white, and black. 



There is an old stumpy pasture at the end of the Skokie 

 road. With the friend who had found the albino bobolink 

 I was passing this pasture one day, when a sparrow alarm- 

 note quickly and sharply uttered attracted our attention. 

 My companion discovered the source of the alarm in a 

 moment. A little gray bird was perched on the top of a 

 stump, and uttering the most dismal cries that I think I ever 

 heard come from a bird throat. Soon another bird joined it, 

 and for every cry that the first one uttered, the other went it 

 one better, or as I thought it, one worse. Both birds took 

 flight and came close to us, flying just above our heads and 

 keeping up their lamenting, for their tone was sorrow-stricken 

 if anything. When our surprise at the birds' actions had 

 abated a little, we had sense enough to realize that we were 

 dealing with strangers. The birds were unquestionably spar- 

 rows, but of a kind neither of us had met before. As they 

 hovered over our heads, they showed soft gray breasts with 

 a single jet-black spot in the center. The sides of the crown 

 were chestnut, and the tail feathers were tipped with white. 

 While flying, both birds spread their tails like fans and 

 formed a striking picture. Finally they seemed to feel that 

 they had made much ado about nothing, and one of them 

 took to a fence-post close at hand. The other soon dropped 

 to the ground at the foot of a stump within ten feet of us, 

 and there fed two young birds, which apparently had just 

 emerged from the shell. The birds were lark sparrows, and 

 to my mind they are the handsomest of the sparrow tribe. 



The day following the discovery of the nest I took some 

 friends to see the nestlings and their pretty parents. The 



