90 BIRDS THROUGH AN OPERA-GLASS. 
paratus of the crow blackbird marking him any- 
where. Then, though they both belong in the 
same pigeon-hole, the keel-tailed is a half larger, 
and the red-wing a trifle smaller than the robin. 
Known more familiarly, the red-wing lacks the 
noisy obtrusiveness of his awkward cousin, and 
usually prefers the field to the dooryard. 
Though as I write the roads are being broken 
through the drifted snow by plough and kettle, as 
I turn over the crumpled leaves of the small note- 
book I have carried on so many tramps, the first 
faint, penciled notes I find on the red-wing take 
me back into May, and, in fancy, we are again 
starting down the hill to the swampy meadows 
where 
‘* The red-wing flutes his o-ka-lee.’’ 
Did you ever see a meadow full of cowslips ? 
Here is the true field of the cloth of gold. It 
looks as if father Sun had crumbled up sunbeams 
and seattered the bits over the meadow! As you 
sink into the soft wet ground, every few steps 
bring you to a luxuriant clump of the tender 
ereen plants lit up by flower cups of glistening 
gold. Each bunch seems more beautiful than the 
last, and, like a child, I would carry the whole 
field full of flowers home in my arms! This sun- 
garden is the red-wing’s playground. As we stroll 
along, he flies over our heads calling out o-ka-lee, 
and then, with outstretched wings, soars slowly 
down to the ground, where he sits and wags his 
tail as fast as a catbird. 
LLL —— CO 
