KINGLETS. 141 
How do they look? Well, they are fluffy little 
things with grayish olive coats and whitish vests 
that protect them as they flit about the leaves as 
perfectly as the vireo’s suits. That is the way I 
thought of them when I had only a vague idea 
that one of the family had a golden crest, and the 
other wore a ruby crown. But one fall, when 
they came back to the old thorn-apple by the 
‘garden, I thought I would learn to know the 
cousins apart. 
That morning one little fellow had the tree all 
to himself. And what a queer gnome he was! A 
fat ball of feathers, stilted up on long, wiry legs, 
with eyes that, though set oddly enough far back 
from his bill, were yet so near together they seemed 
to prevent his seeing straight ahead. He would 
flash one eye on me, and then jerk himself round 
and flash the other, scolding in the funniest way 
with his fine chatter. I could not see that he had 
any crown at all, and so was as much puzzled as 
ever to decide which kinglet he was. 
He and his friends were here by themselves 
about two weeks, working industriously all the 
while — dear little brownies — to clear our moun- 
tain ashes and apple-trees of insects before leaving 
us. I came to know them as far off as I could 
see them by their restless bluebird way of lifting 
their wings and twinkling them in the air as they 
hunted through the branches. And how they did 
hunt! As the kinglets live among the leaves, 
