I50 



AMERICAN ORNITHOLOGY. 



species. The mother is not in sight; doubtless she is off foraging, 

 with the little ones left to play among the warm stones. 



Here on a south sloping bank is a small colony of plants, some of 

 them already beginning to show flower. A chump of dogwood has 

 only a deeper tinge of red to its bark, as some of the birches have a 

 deeper yellow. But over there a pussy willow is clothed with a halo 

 of fully developed catkins. No wonder it raises its head proudly above 

 the bare limbs of its fellows, for is it not a pioneer in this tide of spring 

 stirring and longing? 



A little farther and a brook crosses the path, spanned by a well worn 

 log. I pause on the bank to watch the water as it gurgles and rushes 

 on its way, scarce able to contain its joy within the narrow banks. 

 There is the pure water of bubbling springs in its tide, the melting of 

 mountain snow, the elusive fragrance of arbutus and wood violets. 

 A pussy willow bends its tips to the surface as though to be kissed, 

 and from the opposite bank a green robed damsel lifts eyes that are 

 glistening with liquid pearls. 



At first there seems to be no foreign life wathin the dancing waters, 

 but as the stillness is prolonged, a speckled trout flashes from some 

 covert and poises in mid stream, apparently without motion in the 

 swift, flowing current. Perhaps he has been awake all winter, some- 

 where down there under the ice, 

 or perhaps he has been dozmg at 

 times in some safe retreat. But 

 now he is alert and eager, watchful 

 for any unfortunate insect that the 

 warmth may entice too near the 

 brook's surface. 



There is a slight stirring of the 

 grass near the water's edge a few 

 yards below; then a short space ot 

 almost unnatu ral 

 stillness, and the 

 stirring is repeat- 

 ed. Some water 

 animal, perhaps 

 out for his first 

 spring reconnoiter- 

 ing, is trying to 

 escape unobserved 



But he has not 

 yet reckoned on 



