DRAGON'S BLOOD 227 



bird. Wherefore let no ornithologist vaunt himself. 

 He may be able to distinguish between the song of 

 the purple finch and the warbling vireo, or the chest- 

 nut-sided warbler, the redstart, and the yellow warb- 

 ler, and then hear some common bird, like the Mary- 

 land yellow-throat, sing a song which he has never 

 heard before and may never hear again; or an oven 

 bird, or even a phcebe, rise to the ecstasy of a flight- 

 song which no more resembles their everyday meas- 

 ure than water resembles wine. 



Early in my experience as a bird-student, I learned 

 to walk humbly. It happened on this wise. I had 

 been invited to spend my summer at a Sanitarium 

 for Deserted Husbands. Said retreat was main- 

 tained by a noble-hearted benefactor in a vast, 

 rambling cool house, bordered on three sides by dense 

 woods. The day of my arrival I was approached by 

 one of the older inmates, who, with false and flatter- 

 ing tongue, praised my scanty knowledge of bird- 

 ways, and made me promise to teach him the different 

 bird-songs as he heard them from the house. 



Early the next morning, as I lay in bed, there 

 sounded a strange song. It seemed to come from a 

 tree at the other end of the house and possessed a 

 peculiar rippling, gurgling timbre. A minute or so 

 later my new acquaintance rushed in and seemed 

 much pained that I did not know the singer. There- 

 after my life was burdened by that song. Occasion- 

 ally it sounded in the early morning, when I wanted 

 to sleep but was awakened by my enthusiastic 

 disciple. Another time I would hear it in the evening. 



