T II E T E R R A C E S 



Close by, sunk in a convenient corner under a maple tree, a small 

 forsythia shading it, lies the drinking fountain and bird-hath in one. 

 a big hollow boulder always kept filled with fresh clean water. Shall 

 I acknowledge it is scrubbed every Friday with soap and water ? I 

 know the birds appreciate the fact. On the overhanging bush grow, 

 apparently, currants or cherries or grapes, according to the season. 

 They look very pretty hanging on the pendulous branches of the 

 forsytliia. Here on the north terrace we have our after-dinner coffee 

 on mild Sundays in the late autumn, and here all summer long we 

 spend many a patient hour, making friends with our nearest neigh- 

 bors in the wild life about us. From the big overhanging trees be- 

 vond the lawn, the flycatchers dart after their tiny prey, the yellow 

 warblers come down to bathe, and the red-headed woodpeckers 

 call their children to the newly found fruit farm so conveniently near. 

 The shadows lengthen on the lawn, the evening song of the thrush 

 arises, the robins on the pergola tuck their small heads away, even 

 Bob, the squirrel, disappears into the dusk. The night has come. 



