AN EXQUISITE SONG. 81 



side him, scrambled at that moment a grown-up 

 ouzel. He gave one poke into the wide-open 

 mouth of the infant, then slipped back into the 

 water, dropped down a foot or more, climbed 

 out upon another little shelf in the rock, and in 

 a moment the song arose. I watched the singer 

 closely. The notes were so low and so mingled 

 with the roar of the brook that even then I 

 should not have been certain he was uttering 

 them if I had not seen his throat and mouth 

 distinctly. The song was really exquisite, and 

 as much in harmony with the melody of the 

 stream as the voice of the English sparrow is 

 with the city sounds among which he dwells, 

 and the plaintive refrain of the meadow-lark 

 with the low-lying, silent fields where he spends 

 his days. 



But little cared baby ouzel for music, how- 

 ever ravishing. What to his mind was far 

 more important was food, in short, worms. 

 His pretty begging continued, and the daring 

 notion of attempting a perilous journey over the 

 foot of water that separated him from his papa 

 plainly entered his head. He hurried back and 

 forth on the brink with growing agitation, and 

 was seemingly about to plunge in, when the 

 singer again entered the water, brought up an- 

 other morsel, and then stood on the ledge be- 

 side the eager youngling, " dipping " occasion- 



