WILD LIFE OF ORCHARD AND FIELD 



tree-top alike, and its motley of red, orange, and 

 black is as brilliant and conspicuous as are the co- 

 lumbine blossoms nodding against these gray rocks. 



Here comes one now, tossing himself upon a 

 low branch of the hornbeam near me, then looking 

 carefully around, as if to learn whether anybody 

 noticed him. Suddenly he leaps out, circles a 

 foot or two, turns a sommersault, and returns to 

 his perch. An instant later he flits to another, 

 but has hardly alighted before he dives headlong 

 to the ground, makes a quick sideways dash, and 

 I hear the snap of the bill which closes premature- 

 ly the brief career of some mite of the sunbeam. 



Hardly has it left, when a scarlet tanager dashes 

 past like a volant ruby, and then I hear a sound 

 like the clicking of a gunlock, with a curious kz 

 ending, and turn to see a fly-catcher sitting bolt 

 upright in a tree beside my mossy couch. The 

 bird jerks up its head violently every time he 

 speaks, just as if hiccoughing the notes out. Poor 

 tipsy little chebec ! 



Smaller objects engage one's attention as he rolls 

 lazily over and turns his eyes to the ground. A 

 wonderful liliputian world is the grass. Lie still 

 some day upon your elbows, make a circle of your 

 arms, and try to count all the different plants and 



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