The Catbird 45 



tail lip too, wren fashion, he stands at attention 

 on the rim of the dish, alert, listening, tense — 

 the neatest, trimmest figure in birddom. 



After he has flown off to the nearest thicket, 

 what a change suddenly comes over him! Can 

 it be the same bird? With puffed out, ruffled 

 feathers, hanging head, and drooping tail, he 

 now suggests a fat, tousled schoolboy, just 

 tumbled out of bed. Was ever a bird more 

 contradictory? One minute, from the depths 

 of the bushy undergrowth where he loves to 

 hide, he delights you with the sweetest of songs, 

 not loud like the brown thrasher's, but similar ; 

 only it is more exquisitely finished, and rippling. 

 ''Prut! Prut! coquillicot!'' he begins. ''Really, 

 really, coquillicot! Hey, coquillicot! Hey, victory!'* 

 his inimitable song goes on like a rollicking 

 recitative. The next minute you would gladly 

 stop your ears when he utters the disagreeable 

 cat-call that has given him his name. " Zeay, 

 Zeay ' ' — whines the petulant cry. Now you see 

 him on the ground calmly looking for grass- 

 hoppers, or daintily helping himself to a morsel 

 from the dog's plate at the kitchen door. Sud- 

 denly, with a jerk and a jump, he has sprung 

 into the air to seize a passing moth. There is 

 always the pleasure of variety and the tmex- 

 pected about the catbird. 



He is very intelligent and friendly, like his 

 cousin, the mockingbird. One catbird that 



