THE HERMIT THRUSH 59 



ing the explosive barking of a red squirrel 

 and the plaintive cry of the wood pewee. 

 It became so lonely that I would have 

 paid cash down for the merry, inquisitive 

 chatter of one chick-a-dee. I was just 

 ready to give up and start for home, when 

 I caught coming from the depths of the 

 woods a contralto phrase certainly it was 

 Dulcet 's voice! This one phrase seemed 

 to open his habit, for he flew to the edge 

 of the woods below me and sang several 

 phrases; then he flew to the tree nearest 

 me, a large silver birch, and there, almost 

 directly above my head, he sang, with a 

 pause now and then, for more than a 

 quarter of an hour. At the end of the 

 song he flew to the ground and kept run- 

 ning among the ferns, repeating that 

 peculiar chuck which one ornithologist 

 has named the "call of migration." In 

 the dark I followed this call as well as I 

 could through the tangle, until I heard 

 it sound as if the thrush had stopped be- 

 hind a large brushheap. Here I made 



