UNDER THE APPLE-TREES 



doubled up and fell fluttering to the ground, pre- 

 cisely as if she had been shot. It was a surprising 

 performance. It is highly probable that it was the 

 first time she ever did the trick, but she did it to per- 

 fection. Had we followed her, doubtless she would 

 have given us another exhibition of her art of make- 

 believe. 



Strange to say, after all her concern for the safety 

 of her eggs, the bird deserted her nest. My friend 

 suggested that it was because we touched one of her 

 eggs; but, as birds have little or no powers of smell, 

 this reason seems inadequate. Rather am I inclined 

 to believe that some accident befell the bird. 



Equally surprising is it to see this stupid-looking 

 mud-prober transformed into an ecstatic song-bird 

 under the influence of the mating-instinct. Whoever 

 has witnessed its hurried spiral flight in the March 

 and April twilights, and heard its curious smacking, 

 gurgling notes rain down out of the obscurity of a 

 couple of hundred feet of air, has been present at one 

 of the surprising incidents in the life of this bird. 



Love not only makes the songless woodcock vocal; 

 it puts a new song into the throats of many of our 

 birds. The oven-bird, the meadowlark, the purple 

 finch, the goldfinch, and certain of the sparrows and 

 warblers are keyed up to the point where the flight- 

 song, or song of ecstasy, is the natural expression of 

 the bird soul. The jays and crows also become 

 musical, and the woodpeckers drum in varying keys 

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