The Coming of the Dawn 



tree, and the song service to the rising 

 sun is on in earnest. Easily the leader 

 of all that company in point of per- 

 sistency and sustained sweet flow of 

 full-throated melodies, his accom- 

 paniment is played in riotous confusion 

 by bluejays, cat birds, robins, spar- 

 rows, crows and thrushes, and on the 

 roof the redheads pound the drums. 

 While all this is at its height, across 

 the greenery of the fields the first long 

 horizontal rays announce the advent 

 of his flaming majesty. 



From out the cover of the hedge 

 now comes gray Molly Cottontail. 

 She stops, looks and listens warily, and 

 is on her dainty way. And then a 

 strange thing happens. As suddenly 

 as it all began the celebration stops. 

 By five o'clock all is as silent as before 

 the first crow cawed. The singing 

 ceases. The choir as an organized 

 body has been dismissed. What does 

 it mean? Breakfast. Everybody busy. 

 That's all. 



[791 



