THE BEECH WOODS 



his peaceful nature, is no match for the 

 peppery red, who is a fierce fighter and 

 always a bad neighbour to his gray and 

 black kindred. 



The winter birds seldom strayed 

 from their pine thicket to the north, 

 and only occasionally was the silence 

 of the Beech Woods enlivened with the 

 shrill cry of the jay or the merry voice 

 of the chickadee. But now the drum- 

 mer came to call the scattered army of 

 the feathered tribes together. From the 

 top of a hollowed stub there sounded 

 on the morning air the long roll of the 

 flicker, heralding the arrival of Spring 

 and alternately making the woods re- 

 sound with " Weecher, weecher," a 

 note true to the woods. A robin car- 

 olled from the topmost branch of the 

 old beech by the road and a song-spar- 

 row, on his favourite stake in the fence 

 below, answered with his one splendid 

 tune. Of the robin^s song there was no 

 beginning and no end, no subtle pre- 

 lude, no grand climax, but a continu- 

 ous flow of pulsating melody. The 

 sparrow below sang an old song, sug- 

 gestive of the dawn in its first clear 

 ^0 



