FRIENDS IN FEATHERS 



feline concert in the thicket. " Me-aw, me-aw, me-aw ! " " Me- 

 ow, me-ow, me-ow! 'Arry, 'any," then insistently: "Har-ryl 

 7/ar-ry!" 



Making friends with her was a task. The Rubicon was a 

 circle nearly three yards from her in any direction; when you 

 crossed it, no matter with what adroitness you made your ap- 

 proach, she vanished. I never secured a study of her brooding. 

 It was impossible to take it without separating the bushes, while 

 not even after her eggs had quickened could I touch her fence- 

 corner without her taking flight. 



While making these efforts my appreciation of Cat-bird 

 music doubled, but all I ever had of Cat-bird character was lost; 

 so that in these days, the memory of those hours of watching, 

 filled with the exquisite morning and evening song of the Cat-bird 

 father as he perched in a topmost bough of the old apple-tree, is 

 what keeps me from destroying every nest I find. 



He liked a big Rambo closest his location; there, from a 

 high twig the mimic copied the notes of every bird of the lease. 

 He could do the Robin's rain-song beautifully. He reproduced 

 the Bobolink of the rod-line, across the road, until he deceived me 

 if he opened his matins with that strain. He piped the lay of the 

 Song Sparrow, and warbled like the Warblers. He could not 

 whistle, but he could catch the " Co 'cheer, co 'cheer ! " notes of the 

 Cardinals across the river. In fact, traces could be detected of 

 the notes of every bird of the orchard, meadow and forest except- 

 ing the Lark and the Quail. 



He mixed them all up, worked them over, then poured them 

 out in a continuous and ever-changing stream of melody so fast 

 one had to do mental gymnastics to place each note. Then at 

 times he became inspired with his own performance, his beady 

 eyes threw gleams of light, his throat swelled its fullest while 

 he rocked the twig he perched on improvising a melody of his 



192 



