108 FOOTING IT IN FRANCONIA 



advancing, and field ornithology was becom- 

 ing more and more a battle. I walked up 

 the path for the usual distance (passing a 

 few lady's-slippers, one of them pure white) 

 without hearing the voice for which I was lis- 

 tening. On the return, however, I caught 

 it, or something like it. Then, as I went in 

 pursuit (a slow process, for caution's sake), 

 the song turned, or seemed to turn, into 

 something different, louder, longer, and 

 faster. Is that the same bird, I thought, or 

 another? Whatever it was, it eluded my 

 eye, and after a little the voice ceased. I 

 retreated to the path, where I could look 

 about me more readily and use my switch to 

 better advantage, and anon the faint, lazy 

 zee-zee-zee was heard again. This was the 

 Cape May, at all events. I was sure of it. 

 Still I wanted a look. Carefully I edged 

 to ward the sound, bending aside the branches, 

 and all at once a bird flew into the spruce 

 over my head. Then began again the 

 quicker, four-syllabled zip-zip. I craned my 

 neck and fanned away mosquitoes, all the 

 while keeping my glass in position. A twig 

 stirred. Still the bird sang unseen, the 



