26 Bird Comrades 



Several times I stopped to listen more intently to the 

 rolling ditty. " There's something odd about that wren's 

 song," I repeated. "Does the house wren always close 

 its song with the rising inflection, as if it were asking a 

 question?" 



Then I would perhaps make a half-hearted attempt to 

 get a glimpse of the lyrist, but it kept itself well hidden 

 in the bushes, and I desisted, begrudging the time taken 

 from my quest for feathered rarities. But one day, 

 while strolling along the banks of a small stream, I again 

 heard the labored ditty, and the next moment a small 

 bird darted into full view, calling and scolding in an 

 agitated way, and,' while I watched it capering about, it 

 broke into the very song to which for several weeks I 

 had been listening so carelessly. Why, it was not a 

 wren after all! It did not look like a wren, nor act like 

 one, but, rather, its form and conduct were like those of 

 a vireo ; and a vireo it was. My bird manual soon settled 

 that point. And what was the name of the little stranger 

 who had introduced himself in so informal a way? It 

 was the Bell vireo, an entirely new species to me. 



It is not an eastern species; it ranges from Illinois to 

 the base of the Rocky Mountains. In Kansas it is a 

 summer resident, hanging its little basket of a nest on 

 the twigs of bushes or low trees, after the regular vireo 

 fashion. It was my good fortune to find a nest on a 

 copsy hilltop, where the bird's madrigals and lullabies 

 mingled with those of the yellow-breasted chats, the 

 indigo buntings, the blue-gray gnat catchers, and the 



