THE BLEAT OF THE VEERY. Ill 



Next came a redstart, himself the head of a 

 family, for he too had his beak full of provisions. 

 He was not in the least dismayed ; he perched on 

 a twig and looked over at me with interest, as 

 if trying to see what the veery found so terrify- 

 ing, and then continued on his way home. A 

 snow-bird was the last visitor, and he came 

 nearer and nearer, not at all frightened, merely 

 curious, but madam evidently distrusted him, 

 for she flew at him, intimating in a way that he 

 plainly understood that "his room was better 

 than his company." 



Still I floundered on, and now the disturbed 

 mother added a new cry, like the bleating of a 

 lamb. I never should have suspected a bird of 

 making that sound ; it was a perfect "ba-ha-ha." 

 Yet on listening closely, I saw that it was the 

 very tremolo that gives the song of the male its 

 peculiar thrill. Her "ba-ha-ha," pitched to his 

 tone, and with his intervals, would be a perfect 

 reproduction of it. No doubt she could sing, 

 and perhaps she does, — who knows ? 



Now the mother threw in occasionally a louder 

 sort of call-note like "pee-ro," which was 

 quickly followed by the appearance of another 

 thrush, her mate, I presume. He called, too, 

 the usual "quee-o," but he kept himself well out 

 of sight; no reckless mother-love made him lose 

 his reason. Still, steadily though slowly, and 



