held three young birds gaping wildly for 

 food. 



"We will retreat and watch awhile," 

 said the students, though their burdens 

 were becoming heavy and the mosquitoes 

 had atacked them so fiercely that at every 

 forward step they had said, "We must 

 go back." The little enemies could not 

 be called "no-see-ums" — the name the In- 

 dians gave them, for they were giants in 

 size and as bloodthirsty as Bluebeard. 



"We must go back," was said again, 

 regretfully, yet each parent lingered, not 

 possessed with the power of decisive ac- 

 tion. Suddenly, however, the necessary 

 impetus was given — a serpent hissed at 

 their feet and hesitation ended in head- 

 long haste homeward. 



At dusk the bird-lovers, thinking of the 

 evening song of the veery which their 

 ears had never heard, again walked to- 

 ward the wood ; but they yielded to their 

 better judgment and paused upon its bor- 

 der, where they stood for an instant 

 listening to wandering voices and to one 



especially whose luring was all but ir- 

 resistible. 



Later in the summer a hasty visit was 

 made and the nest in the raspberry bush 

 was carried away and examined, only to 

 confirm the faith of its possessors that 

 it had been the home of the Wilson 

 thrush or veery, whose valuable acquaint- 

 ance they had failed to make. 



The warblers' nest, which had evidently 

 been abandoned by its builders because 

 of the stray egg, was also taken home, 

 '^he children insisted upon calling it a 

 cowbird's nest and when the sad char- 

 acter of the cowbird was presented to 

 them they were not morally affected at 

 all, as they were expected to be. The 

 younger child insisted that the cowbird 

 did not know any better — "he got mixed." 

 The little girl hinted that Madam Cow- 

 bird was a society lady and she seemed 

 to justify her in wanting somebody else 

 tr^ take care of her children. "Besides," 

 she added in conclusion, "maybe cow- 

 birds really do not know how to take 

 care of babies." 



Mrs. Charles Norman. 



WHO WOULD HAVE LIFE ALWAYS MAY? 



Sweet winds, sunshine, music, flowers — 



Ah, could life be one long May, 

 What a happy world were ours ! 



But as darkness follows day, 

 So the gloomy winter lowers 

 O'er the sunny summer hours. 



Yet would summer seem as fair 

 If the earth were never bare? 

 And when watching Autumn's death 

 Quicken under vernal breath, 

 Does not, then, stern "dust to dust" 

 Lose itself in sacred trust? 

 After all, 'tis best God's way, — 

 Who would have life always May! 



— Stanford Conant. 



