228 



BIRD-LAND ECHOES. 



so quickly to the righteousness of mouse-murder 

 that we do not think of the slaughtered song-spar- 

 row, and clap our hands with delight when the gay 

 little falcon hovers over the field or darts off, light 

 of wing as any swallow, screaming keety / keety ! 

 keety ! at the top of its voice. I never heard of one 

 dashing at the bird on a silly woman's bonnet, but 



it is plucky and mischievous enough to do it, and 

 more's the pity that this does not often happen, 

 to the dismay of such women and the disgust of 

 those who pay the bonnet bills. 



There are plenty of hollows in the old apple-trees, 

 and these are occupied by great-crested flycatchers, 

 Carolina wrens, and even robins and an occasional 



