112 LAND OF THE LINGERING SNOW. 



gorgeous flowers in the pale sunlight. The grass, 

 only a few days ago burned over by the frugal 

 but short-sighted cify workmen, was brilliantly 

 green, and in places four or five inches long. 

 When July suns beat down upon its roots it 

 may miss its mat of protecting fibres destroyed 

 by fire. A fox sparrow was scratching among 

 the grass roots energetically. Several redwings, 

 song sparrows, and a large flock of English spar- 

 rows were at work on the ground near by. From 

 the swamp the music of song sparrows and red- 

 wings was incessant. 



Passing between the ice-houses and the shan- 

 ties and hen houses which stand on the opposite 

 side of the track I gained the fringe of lofty 

 trees on the Tudor place. A flicker was guard- 

 ing her house in a hollow maple. Now, she 

 poked her head out and " flickered " for her 

 mate. Then, he answering not, she came out 

 and drummed furiously on the dead resonant 

 wood by her door post. At last his answer 

 came from a distant tree and she flew away to 

 find him. A female sparrow hawk darted from 

 her nest in the deep hollow of an inaccessible 

 limb, and flew with marvellous' grace into the 

 open, wheeled, and dropped upon the out- 

 stretched finger of one of the tallest trees of this 

 tall grove. Her mate joined her and perched 

 for a second beside her, while a queer whining 



