HAPPY HOLLOW FARM 251 



dusk. I don't believe he's stopped for five min- 

 utes together. He acts just exactly like a bird 

 on a tearing spree. He's having a profound 

 debauch of song. 



I don't know what it's all about. I wish I 

 did. He and his mate hatched a brood of 

 youngsters last month in the shelter of a wild 

 grapevine that grows over the roof of Peggy's 

 playhouse. The little ones learned to fly and 

 went their way a couple of weeks ago. Maybe 

 this outburst is a riot of thanksgiving that the 

 responsibility is past ; or maybe it's a riot of re- 

 joicing over a new brood on the way. The 

 mother bird is keeping mighty quiet and stick- 

 ing mighty close at home. I'm afraid of both- 

 ering her by going to look in the nest. I guess 

 there isn't anyway for it but to wait and see. 

 Whatever the reason, Daddy is having a royal 

 good time, up yonder. 



Just at this, minute he's mocking the skreek- 

 skreek of a block and tackle the men are using 

 in lifting the dirt out of a cistern they're dig- 

 ging. Five minutes ago you'd have thought 

 the yard was full of cawing young crows. He 

 can "Bob- White," too, fit to make a quail 

 ashamed of his own lack of proficiency. Now 

 it's a cardinal, and then a chattering sparrow, 



