A GHOST-LIKE BIRD. 125 



air like an arrow, alighted in a sycamore bush 

 in one corner of my dooryard. Filled with 

 curiosity he peeks and peers, turning his head 

 now on one side, now on the other, wondering 

 perhaps as to the kind of a creature sitting be- 

 fore him. A gray breast, quaker-gray body and 

 white spots on under tail feathers are his prin- 

 cipal hues. A caterpillar hunter he, and even 

 as he rests his sharp eyes spy one dangling from 

 a near-by leaf. Pulling it down he swallows it 

 slowly as if surfeited, then with head cocked on 

 one side, gapes and gazes long and earnestly at 

 me, until finally he is up and away like. a dart 

 from a bow-gun. 



A shy bird this cuckoo, seldom seen at so 

 close a range. Common enough in the summer 

 months, arriving from the south about May 

 first, it departs thereto in August and Septem- 

 ber. One of the farmer's best friends, feeding 

 the livelong day upon caterpillars, beetles, grass- 

 hoppers and saw-flies, yet more often heard 

 than seen. Its most common note is a somewhat 

 dolorous "cook cook cook/' whence the com- 

 mon name. Another is a cackling "ke-ock, ke- 

 ock," rapid and vibrating. Swift, noiseless in 

 flight, ever alert, it is, like the chat, a ghost- 

 like denizen of our woods and orchards. 



The wild roses have begun trying to outdo 

 the fire-pinks in decorating this old woodland 

 slope with posies gay. Their blossoms are much 



