little people usually build their nests in varying his song to "Erie-lake-Erie/ 7 



the skunk cabbage plants, indicating that with every other breath. As a child I 



they must have an abnormal odor sense, used to wonder who taught him the name 



but perhaps they allow their sense of safe- of the great lake on whose borders he 



ty to overcome their sense of smell. How- makes his summer home. But to other 



ever, this pair of yellow-throats have people, other interpretations, for to 



built instead, among some thickly matted Neltje Blanchan he says "Spring-o'-the- 



Elders, just above the ground. year, spring-o'-the-year," and to Frank 



Another fact that favors our orchard Chapman his song is a bar of high, trill- 

 in bird minds, is its close proximity to a ing notes. Sing on, you wary warbler r 

 thickly foliaged ravine which affords such for we have not time to search out your 

 delightful security to feathered people, carefully hidden nest among the timothy 

 It is also a charming background for grasses of the distant meadow, for we 

 our sunny orchard, filled in below, as it know that it would be like looking for the 

 is, with tall, ghostly stalks of black co- pearl in the oyster, so carefully is it con- 

 hosh gleaming white in the shadows-, cealed among the dried grasses, but which 



Near by, upon a bit of high ground, snakes and field mice depredate so effec- 

 quivers a group of prim American as- tually. In the distant valley we hear the 

 pens, the pale green of their bark gleam- soft echo of the Italian liquids of the 

 ing against the dark shadows of a hem- wood thrush's "A-o-le-le, a-oa-o-le." Shy 

 lock hedge. As we look at them, not a little songster, who so sweetly trills to 

 leaf is in motion, when all of a sudden one us long after his feathered kind have 

 little leaf begins to gesticulate frantically, tucked their busy little bills away in soft 

 throwing itself about with violent wild- wings. Across the orchard comes' the ro- 

 ness, then another leaf catches the enithu- mantic "Coo-coo-coo-coo," sometimes 

 siasm of the soft summer air, then an- interpreted into "I-thou-thou-thou," of 

 other, and another until all of the trees the purple plumaged mourning dove, 

 are a mass of gesticulating, seething little starting out on a high minor and softly 

 serrated atoms, for all the world like a falling to a low contralto. There are no 

 congregation of human beings, vociferat- more delightful representatives of roman*- 

 ing, demonstrating, or contradicting tic bird love, than these birds illustrate, 

 some poor little human leaf that has dared More frequently than in any other species 

 to be moved by some passing thought in you see the devoted pair going about to- 

 advance of his fellow kind. Darting gether, on the telegraph wire, on the tree 

 through the quivering foliage comes a top, on the wing, always together, undu- 

 gleam of fire, which resolves itself into a lating their graceful necks with marked 

 scarlet tanager who calls to us, "look- devotion. Many a bird lover has criti- 

 see," demanding our attention to his cised Mr. Dove for his remarkable fond- 

 bright beauty, remembering possibly that ness for a lady who is a so decidedly slack 

 his brilliant coloring is but a thing of housekeeper, and who is satisfied with so 

 short duration, for too soon will come shiftless a nest in which to deposit the 

 winter and plain clothes. Perched upon two white eggs, for the few carelessly 

 a fence rail, but somewhat out of place thrown together sticks can prove any- 

 in this shady corner, sits a blatant thing but a bed of down to the tender bird 

 meadow lark, about whose golden breast babies. However, perhaps these roman- 

 is hung a gleaming neck chain and locket tic birds consider that "love is enough" 

 of shining black feathers, of which, from as they follow Le Gallienne's refrain of: 

 the pert poise of his head, we deem him 



justly proud, and he is at least a con- " The bird of life is singing- on the bough, 

 spi< spot of color against the green His two^eraal not- of I -*gj^ 

 of the hillside. He eyes us impertinently through 



as he inconsistently but musically calls to And would we hear it, we must hear it 

 us, "You-can't-see-me, You-can't-see- now." 



me," in the face of the most contradictory Alberta A. Field, 



evidence of his own conspicuousness, 



157 



