AMONGST THE ISLAND BIRDS. EARLY MAY 21 
my garden seemed always to say, ‘ Dorothy 
dear, Dorothy dear, Dorothy dear’ (my 
daughter’s name) ‘why don’t you come? 
why don’t you come?’ apparently calling 
her with a startling distinctness of speech. 
And this contrasts with the song of the 
blackbird, which to me sounds like a well 
drawn out argument or plaint, because of 
some long nursed injury or wrong. The 
words it seems to say are: ‘I told you so,’ 
‘I knew it was,’ ‘Didn’t I say so now?’ 
‘ There, you see it is,’ ‘ You don’t think I was 
wrong ?’ ‘I’m sure I’m right,’ ‘ You know I 
am,’ and so on, until, if you approach too 
close, or something puts him off, he flits to 
another garden or a far off bush or tree, 
only to begin again. 
x * * ** 
Then we paddled to the shore, and tying 
up the boat in its accustomed place, we 
ambled homewards quite contentedly, and 
passed into the madding crowd again, with 
pleasant recollections of the scene we had 
just left. 
