3 6 American Birds 



morning and find he's there again, as if he had grown out 

 of the ground during the night, like a toadstool. After 

 his return, he soon begins to scratch out a hollow in a 

 tussock of swamp grass. 



What a little deceiver this golden sprite is! Look- 

 ing for his nest is something like searching for the bags of 

 gold at the rainbow's tip. If you stand under the alders, 

 looking down over the garden, he will call, " Here-it-is I 

 Here-it-is ! Here ! " and a minute later he will shriek the 

 same lie from another tussock ten yards away. 



It seems to be the appointed duty of this little witch 

 to sing his lies all day long, while his wife broods the 

 eggs. He wears a jet-black mask across his face. Per- 

 haps when Nature gave out the bird clothes, she gave this 

 to him just so he could sing his falsehoods without a blush. 

 The lady hops about without the sign of a veil, while the 

 gentleman always wears a mask; it's the Turkish custom 

 reversed. 



While I was honest and open in my treatment of yel- 

 low-throat, he simply met every advance with deceit. I 

 tried to visit his house again and again when Mrs. Yellow- 

 throat was at home, but every time he led me by a dif- 

 ferent path to the furthest limits of the garden. I tried 

 to take him unawares, but he seemed to do nothing else 

 except come out to meet visitors and pilot them in the 

 wrong direction. Whenever I got too near the home the 

 wife herself slipped off the nest and appeared right before 

 me calling, " Here-I-am ! Fol-low-me! Fol-low!" 



At last I tried cunning. I took a long rope, and two 

 of us crept up to the edge of the garden late one after- 

 noon. We quietly spread out, each taking an end of the 



