206 THE BROOK BOOK 



most flattering. He not only recognized the note, 

 but signified his willingness to continue the con- 

 versation by perching on a lower limb. He eyed 

 us curiously, while I fairly held my breath, and 

 the whistler kept up the flow of talk. The bird 

 flirted his long, slender tail, showed his black vel- 

 vety head and stock collar and answered with a 

 more prolonged chicadee-de-de-dee. 



"Fee-bee!" whistled my companion, and the 

 bird suddenly whisked away into the tree-top with- 

 out a word. 



"Evidently I said the wrong thing that time," 

 said the whistler, as we took our leave. 



"Chickadee -dee," the bird called after us 

 cheerily, as he went about his business and we 

 about ours. He had evidently forgiven the error 

 and was ready to take us back into his confidence. 



I reached home tired, but happy and hungry. 

 In making up my account with nature for that 

 day I have: 



DR. CR. 



One and one-half hour's time. One "woolly bear." 



Energy for a mile walk. One oriole's nest (out of reach). 



Muddy shoes to be cleaned. Barberry bush and red berries. 



Flock tree-sparrows. 



Skunk cabbage, touch and smell. 



Three cocoons to watch. 



Icicles in the gorge. 



Tent caterpillars' eggs (not in my 

 own trees). 



All these things were extras. The air and the 

 blue sky, that peculiar blue which we have after 



