PIKE BE. 81 



Knowing that the vocal organs of the flycatch- 

 ers are undeveloped, you are not surprised by the 

 contrast they present to the sweet-voiced sparrows 

 and finches, the talkative catbird, and the bobo- 

 link, who is always bubbling over with song, nor 

 do you wonder at the abrupt call of the phoebe. 

 Although it resembles a jerking repetition of 

 phoe-be, phce-be, it is not precisely what the word 

 would indicate. The first part of the call is com- 

 paratively clear, but the second is a longer rasping 

 note, with a heavily trilled r, making the whole 

 more like phoe-ree, phoe-ree. 



When the birds first begin coming north you 

 hear this note. When you have traced it to its 

 source, and it is an excellent habit to see every 

 bird whose notes attract your attention, the dull 

 olive gray coat and the whitish vest, with its 

 tinge of pale yellow, are soon forgotten in watch- 

 ing the odd ways of the bird. 



Somewhat longer than a song sparrow, two 

 thirds as large as a robin, he is strikingly unlike 

 the cheery, busy sparrow, or, in fact, like any of 

 the birds we have had. There he sits on a branch, 

 in an attitude that would shock the neat songsters. 

 His wings droop at his sides, and his tail hangs 

 straight down in the most negligent fashion. He 

 seems the personification of listlessness ; but, 

 focus your glass on him, his wings are vibrating, 

 and his tail jerks nervously at intervals. Suddenly 

 he starts into the air, snaps his bill loudly over an 



