BETSY BOUNCE, THE ROCK WREN 



(Salpinctes obsoletus) 



EARLY, early this morning, long before a single 

 direct ray of the sun had brightened the rock- 

 ribbed hills or desert sands, the rock wren was 

 abroad as restless as a chipmunk, singing her 

 shrill, chippering, tinkling song and ceaselessly 

 darting in and out among the rock ledges look- 

 ing for insects. And now that the sun is really 

 up and the spiders are at rest, and the gauzy- 

 winged insects are coming out of their hiding, 

 she is busier than ever. 



When I go out to watch her she has a funny 

 way of standing still on a rock and bobbing up 

 and down as if she were dropping me a curtsy, 

 or were ever deciding to leap into air and then 

 concluding, when half off, not to go quite so 

 soon, but to watch me a minute longer. And 

 in this particular she reminds me of the rollick- 

 ing, sweet-voiced water ouzel of our mountain 

 streams, or of her nearer relative, the trumpet- 

 ing canon wren. As she continues her funny, 



