126 FLYCATCHER VAGARIES 



trumpet squeak of the red-breasted nuthatch, 

 advance guard of the migrants, and if very 

 near and very attentive, one might hear his 

 queer little whining or squeaky whispering 

 to his fellows, as he scrambled over the trees, 

 searching under as well as over twigs, and 

 hanging head down most of the time. 



Warbler baby-cries abounded, but their 

 elders had fallen to silence. On entering the 

 grove I could sometimes see that the tree-tops 

 were full of flitting wings, but not a sound 

 floated down to me. Not only were the birds 

 putting off their old garments, and putting 

 on the new, they were also giving the final 

 touches to the education of the young, 



" Teaching sky science and wings' delight," 



and all the time preparing, preparing for 

 the great event of the Autumn migration. 



" Already the cricket is busy 



With hints of soberer days, 

 And the goldenrod lights slowly 

 Its torch for the Autumn blaze." 



