MY WOODLAND INTIMATES 



on any two occasions either of his coming or his 

 going. 



Less and less song; more and more work. 

 There a robin redbreast halts to sing his 



Cheery, cheery, 



Be cheery, be cheery. 



I like cherries. 



Don't you, Deary ? 



but nearly all his little companions are looking 

 around for food-supplies. The oriole still utters 

 his sweet, clear notes, but they come like musical 

 drops now, singly or in couplets, and they are ut- 

 tered during leaf and twig investigations. The 

 great food-quest, the grub and insect exterminat- 

 ing crusade has begun. 



How much of woodland life the full light re- 

 veals. Just overhead I catch a glimpse of a yel- 

 low-billed cuckoo ; and there, against the trunk of 

 that nearest maple, a sapsucker's beautiful red 

 crown appears. Now a sight of the goldfinch in 

 his undulating flight accompanies those waves of 

 song. As for this plump little object, which a 

 few moments ago we might have passed unheeded 

 or mistaken for a small stump, it now develops 

 into a friendly cottontail. How very worn and 

 moth-eaten the remnant of the winter coat looks 



[.'68] 



