n8 Birds of Lakeside and Prairie 



Master Robin perched on a fence post with a big, fat worm 

 in his mouth. It is barely possible that he had worn his 

 voice out the night before, or more likely, he was afraid he 

 would drop the worm, else he would have scolded me and 

 perhaps sworn a little. I fully expected to find nothing less 

 than a rifled robin household. The duet of the night before 

 could hardly be accounted for on less tragic grounds. I soon 

 discovered, however, that neither black-snake nor small boy 

 robber had been about, for the robin, after looking me over 

 for a minute, flew to a crotch low down in a maple across the 

 inlet, and dividing his worm prize into bits, fed some concealed 

 young. I went to the tree and climbing a few feet looked 

 into the nest. There were four naked young ones within. 

 They were certainly not more than eight or ten hours old. 

 It is my firm conviction that the racket that the father and 

 mother bird made the night before was their method of rejoic- 

 ing that unto them several children were born. 



The bird-lover's best time abroad is usually before break- 

 fast. We walked that morning along the edge of the swamp 

 and listened to the "fluting" of the redwings. In a little 

 clump of trees, whose foliage was nearly full, we found the 

 redstarts and the yellow warblers. There were other warblers 

 in their company, but they gave us only a fleeting glimpse, 

 and though we followed through the tangled thickets as they 

 went from tree to tree, we had to give them up in despair. 

 Warbler time is the time to try the bird-lover's soul. The 

 elusive creatures invariably give the observer a crook in the 

 back, and not infrequently give him a crook in the temper. 

 A pair of doves flew by. We had heard their notes ever since 

 we had left the house. There is something more than mournful 

 in the dove's note. To me there is something that the chil- 



