OUR COUNTRY LIFE 



house, ate out of the hand, snuggled in the 

 men's pockets, and returned readily to sleep in their 

 comfortable cage. As spring came on they roamed 

 abroad and finally took possession of one of the 

 Berlepsch bird boxes hanging near the cottage and 

 intended for a downy woodpecker. Here they set up 

 housekeeping and joined again the great community of 

 wild life about us. 



It is the middle of August. I am awakened by the 

 clear, gay whistle of the oriole and the trial peeps of 

 young birds striving after the full phrase. The vesper 

 sparrow, too, has come close to the house to repeat 

 again and again his trill and tumbling notes. The 

 catbird adds his unmusical call, and the peewee from 

 his high perch intones his mournful melody. 

 The robin ventures some cheery sounds, and the song 

 sparrow stops between the incessant demands of his 

 cowbird fledgling to voice his joy of life. From the 

 hollows in the woods comes the tree toad's tom-tom 

 as the sun bursts forth from overhanging clouds to 

 make more brilliant the dripping leaves. 



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