stood upon her pillow, his wings almost 

 brushing her face. 



The song of an indigo bird, kept in 

 my room, is often followed by from 

 two to four subdued notes of exceed 

 ing richness and sweetness. Aside from 

 the ordinary song, sometimes reduced 

 to the syllables, "meet, meet, I'll meet 

 you," words unheard save by aid of a 

 vivid imagination, the bird has an ex 

 quisite warble, loud and exhilarating, 

 as rounded and velvety as the blue 

 bird's. 



When the bird became familiar with 

 the room, its occupants and the sun 

 shine streaming in through the window, 

 his happiness crystallized in song, a 

 rarely beautiful strain unheard before. 

 The feathers on his throat would ruffle 

 as a wave of song ran upward filling 

 the room with a delicious music. 



Unlike the hermit thrush, which has 

 silent, preoccupied hours and is given 

 to meditation, the indigo has no indo 

 lent days and is a happy, sunny-hearted 

 creature. 



His attitudes are like the catbird's 

 erecting crest, flirting body and tail, or 

 drooping the latter in the precise man 

 ner of the catbird. Judged by indigo 

 dress-standards, this bird is in an un 

 dress uniform, quite as undress as it is 

 uniform; as somebody says, a result of 

 the late moult. 



For all this his changeable suit is not 

 only becoming, but decidedly modern- 



warp of blue and woof of green that 

 change with changing light from in 

 digo to intense emerald. Then there 

 are browns and drabs in striking con 

 trasts colors worn by indigoes while 

 young and inexperienced, the confused 

 shades of the upper breast replaced by 

 sparrowy stripes beneath. 



My bird is a night singer, pouring 

 out his tuneful plaint as freely in the 

 "wee, sma' hours," as when the sun is 

 shining; its notes as sweet as if he 

 knew that if we mustsinga night song it 

 should be sweet that some heart may 

 hear and be the better for our singing. 

 Later in the day a purple finch in the 

 cedar tangle challenged the vocalist in 

 notes so entrancing that one's breath 

 was hushed involuntarily. 



The same finch sang freely during the 

 entire season in notes replete with per 

 sonality, a distinct translation of the 

 heart language. Others might sing 

 and sing, but this superb voice rose 

 easily above them all, a warbling, gurg 

 ling, effervescing strain, finished and 

 polished in notes of infinite tenderness. 

 Short conversations preceded and fol 

 lowed the musical ecstasy, a love song 

 intended for one ear only, while wings 

 twinkled and fluttered in rhythm with 

 the pulsing heart of the melodist. No 

 doubt he was telling of a future castle 

 in the air beside which castles in Spain 

 are of little value. 



PLANTING THE TREES. 



What do we plant when we plant the 



trees? 

 We plant the ships which will cross the 



seas. 



We plant the mast to carry the sails, 

 We plant the planks to withstand the 



gales 

 The keel, the keelson, and beams and 



knee; 

 We plant the ship when we plant the 



tree. 



What do we plant when we plant the 



tree? 



We plant the homes for you and me. 

 We plant the rafters, the shingles, the 



floors, 



We plant the studding, the laths, the 



doors, 



The beams, the sidings, all parts that be; 

 We plant the home when we plant the 



tree. 



What do we plant when we plant the 



tree? 



A thousand things that we daily see. 

 We plant the spires that outtower the 



crag, 



We plant the staff for our country's flag, 

 We plant the shade, from the hot sun 



free; 

 We plant all these when we plant the 



tree. 



ISO 



