I40 Bird-Land Echoes. 



took their mid-day naps after charging the young- 

 sters to make no noise. Even the old dog was 

 drowsy and scarcely shook the tormenting flies from 

 his ears. It was then, while I was wondering if 

 grandpa would ever wake up or auntie open her 

 eyes, that the wrens, as if on mischief bent, would 

 sometimes come close to the open window — peep 

 through the blinds, I thought — and send a torrent 

 of music rushing through the room. Then grandpa 

 would start, and auntie, rubbing her eyes and real- 

 izing that the birds and not the children were at fault, 

 would give the signal for a dash out of doors. I 

 learned to love the wrens many a year ago. Is it 

 any wonder that I love them still ? 



It was time to go ; I had an engagement to meet ; 

 but, before leaving, I turned, scarce knowing why, to 

 the fields beyond the boundary of Aunt Peggy's 

 garden, and there, too, were flowers in abundance. 

 The climbing bittersweet almost hedged them in, 

 and along the brook the boneset and Joe-Pye weed 

 flourished in tropical luxuriance, but not to the ex- 

 clusion of other flowers, while slender lizard's-tail 

 and golden dodder contributed their brilliance to the 

 painted meadow, and the twittering of birds every- 

 where added to the charm. Mere twittering of birds 

 of many kinds ; the half-expressed assertion of their 

 happiness ; but it gave complete assurance of their 

 near presence, which ever keeps the rambler in good 

 humor with himself 



How well these wild flowers keep the record of the 

 year ! Were all almanacs lost and every clock de- 



