CHIPMUNKS, BLUEBIRDS, ROBINS 231 



ing some roadside maples when the voice 

 was heard anew, and the two birds, both 

 calling, mounted into the air and vanished 

 beyond the wood northward. 



What a sweet voice the bluebird's is ! 

 Calling or singing, it is the very soul of 

 music. And the spring was really open. I 

 went home in high spirits. 



This happened on the 10th. Now it is 

 the 13th. I have seen no more bluebirds, 

 and song sparrows are still missing ; but this 

 morning an ecstatic purple finch warbled, 

 and better still (for somehow, I do not 

 know how or why, it gave me more plea- 

 sure), a flicker called again and again in 

 his loud, peremptory, long-winded manner. 

 He, or another like him, has been in the 

 neighborhood all winter, but this was his 

 first spring utterance. It was no uncertain 

 sound. 



The bluebird peeps in upon us, as it were. 

 His air is timid. " Is winter really gone ? " 

 he seems to say ; but the flicker is a breezier 

 customer. His mood is positive. He pushes 

 the door wide open, and slams it back against 

 the wall. " Spring, spring ! " he shouts, and 



