162 A WEEK ON WALDEWS RIDGE. 



locusts was incessant. Nothing but the peals 

 of thunder kept it out of my ears. 



So far, then, my plans had prospered; 

 but to find the mysterious bird, that was 

 not so easy. The swamp was silent, and I 

 was at once so cold and so hot, and so badly 

 under the weather already, that I dared not 

 linger. 



In the woods, nevertheless, I stopped long 

 enough to enjoy the music of a master 

 cardinal, a bewitching song, and, as I 

 thought, original : birdy, 'birdy, repeated 

 about ten times in the sweetest of whistles, 

 and then a sudden descent in the pitch, and 

 the same syllables over again. At that 

 instant, a Carolina wren, as if stirred to 

 rivalry, sprang into a bush and began 

 whistling cherry, cherry, cherry at his 

 loudest and prettiest. It was a royal duet. 

 The cardinal was in magnificent plumage, 

 and a scarlet tanager near by was equally 

 handsome. If the tanager could whistle 

 like the cardinal, our New England woods 

 would have a bird to brag of. 



Not far beyond these wayside musicians I 

 came upon a boy sitting beside a wood-pile, 

 with his saw lying on the ground. "It is 



