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to come out when the weather gets warmer. And 

 there are eggs too, spiders' eggs, done up in 

 nice packages, waiting for the warm days of 

 spring to hatch them out. Warbler darts along, 

 at home always on his clinging toes, and peeps 

 into every secret nook, pecking with his sharp 

 beak, and bringing out the hideaways against 

 their will. 



The tin spouting under the eaves is his great- 

 est delight. Leaves, and summer dust, and litter 

 from everywhere have blown into the roof-gut- 

 ters, and have not yet been washed out by the 

 rains. Indeed, no rain is able to wash them 

 quite away; it simply packs the litter into a nice 

 warm bed for insects that like to be covered up 

 this way. Nature is very kind and motherly! 

 She covers up her children. Warbler, thinking 

 only of his appetite, goes along, now on foot and 

 now on wing, arid chirps while he finds out 

 things. 



When the eaves, and spouting, and window- 

 screens have been inquired into, away goes the 

 investigator to the orchard. Of course we left 

 those yellow persimmons and rosy apples on the 

 top boughs on purpose for the birds. Warbler 

 spies them, and clings in his usual fashion, with 

 one set of toes, while he looks at the landscape 



