128 BIRD-LAND ECHOES. 



a century. It was just the same now as then, save 

 the added growth to the hedge, lilacs, willow-, and 

 gaunt, wrinkled quince- and pear-trees. A narrow 

 path, margined by box, led to the open well, with 

 thick mats of moss about the stepping-stones that 

 faced the curb ; and where the few vegetables had 

 not been planted there was a wealth of flowers in 

 full blow, in bud, and, though so near the end of 

 summer, it was August now, with a promise of 

 abundant blossoms yet to appear. 



A crooked cedar post by the well was not the least 

 attractive feature. A coral honeysuckle and a 

 trumpet creeper struggled for supremacy, and both 

 were well laden with bright flowers. How the 

 humming-birds buzzed about them ! not fighting, 

 but forever threatening, I thought ; and the bees, 

 butterflies, dragon-flies, and beetles, what goodly 

 store of sweets they all found ! and not for an instant 

 was there positive silence. Their humming was 

 incessant and made excellent bass when the treble 

 of joyous birds sounded from overhead or struggled 

 through the foliage of the thick-set shrubbery. The 

 oriole's whistle was the first clearly distinct sound 

 that I heard, and the nest that had been in use 

 three months before was almost within reach. The 

 bird itself was merely revisiting old scenes, and I 

 was not surprised to hear from Aunt Peggy that at 

 nesting-time they are too noisy for comfort. " These 

 hang-nests never fail to come, and always build in 

 that weepin' willow. I don't know a season when 

 they missed," said Aunt Peggy. But I have not 



