102 FOOTING IT IN FRANCONIA 



lude of four quick, decisive strokes was a 

 novelty to my ears, so far as I could re- 

 member. 



I had taken my fiU of this pleasant chorus, 

 and was on my way back to the road, when 

 suddenly I heard something that was better 

 than " pleasant," — a peculiarly faint and 

 listless four-syllabled warbler song, which 

 might be described as a monotonous zee-zee- 

 zee-zee. The singer was not a blackpoU : of 

 that I felt certain on the instant. What 

 could it be, then, but a Cape May? That 

 was a shrewd guess (I had heard the Cape 

 May once, in Virginia, some years before) ; 

 for presently the fellow moved into sight, 

 and I had a feast of admiring him, as he 

 flitted about among the fir trees, feeding and 

 singing. If he was the one I had seen in 

 the same wood on the 2 2d, he was making 

 a long stay. Still I did not venture to think 

 of him as anything but a migrant. The 

 Tennessee had sung incessantly for five days 

 in the Gale Eiver larches near the hotel, as 

 already mentioned, and then had taken 

 flight. 



The next morning, nevertheless, there was 



