PROMISE OF MAY 



on that morning I do not see the flash of 

 an oriole's orange, yellow, and black 

 among the young apple tree leaves, and 

 hear that musical whistle, I shall think 

 something has gone dreadfully wrong with 

 return tickets from Nicaragua. 



Of the brown thrush I am not quite so 

 sure. He rarely calls on me. Instead, I 

 have to seek him out on the first few days 

 of his arrival. He likes the sprout land 

 best, and the flash of rufous brown that 

 you get from him as he flits away among 

 the scrub oaks might well be the color of 

 a fox's brush, yet there is no mistaking his 

 sunrise solo. It is quite the most sono- 

 rously musical bird song of early spring, 

 'and I have heard it often on the twenty- 

 fifth of April. 



I dare say it has always been here as 

 early as that, though some years I have 



failed of the concert-room and so of the 

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