A TRIBE OF WEED WARRIORS 



223 



" Some morning in early spring, when the Cliielvadees 

 who have wintered abont the Farm are growing restless, 

 and about ready to go to a more secluded spot to nest, 

 yoti will hear a sweet j^ersuasive whistling song coming 

 from a clump of bushes. AVhat is it? Xot a Bluebird, 

 or a Robin. The notes are too short and simple for a 

 Song Sparrow or a Thrush, too plaintive for a Wren, 

 and too clear for a lisping Wood Warbler. 



" Presently several White-throats fly 

 down to a bit of newly 

 seeded lawn or patch of 

 wild grass, where they feed 

 industriously for a few min- 

 utes, giving only a few little 

 call-notes — ' t'sip, t'sip ' — 

 by way of conversation. 

 Then one flies up into a 

 bush and sings in a high 

 key. What does he say — 

 for the song of two short 

 bars surely has words ? One 

 person understands it one 

 way, and thinks the bird 

 says ' all-day whittling, whittling, whittling ! ' Some 

 one else hears 'pe-a — peabody — peabody — peabod}^ I ' 

 AVhile to me the AVhite-tliroat always saj^s 'Zwork — 

 cleverly, cleverly, cleverly — poor me — cleverly, clev- 

 erly, cleverly ! ' " 



As the Doctor paused a moment. Rap whistled an 

 imitation of the song, throwing the sound far from him 

 after a fashion that the Chat has, so that it seemed to 

 come from the trees, completely deceiving Dodo. 



\/^.^ 



White- 

 throated 

 Spakrow. 



