stood upon her pillow, his wings almost 
brushing her face. 
The song of an indigo bird, kept in 
my room, is often followed by from 
two to four subdued notes of exceed- 
ing richness and sweetness. Aside from 
the ordinary song, sometimes reduced 
to the syllables, ‘meet, meet, I’ll meet 
you,” words unheard save by aid of a 
vivid imagination, the bird has an ex- 
quisite warble, loud and exhilarating, 
as rounded and velvety as the blue- 
bird’s. 
When the bird became familiar with 
the room, its occupants and the sun- 
shine streaming in through the window, 
his happiness crystallized in song, a 
rarely beautiful strain unheard before. 
The feathers on his throat would ruffle 
as a wave of song ran upward filling 
the room with a delicious music. 
Unlike the hermit thrush, which has 
silent, preoccupied hours and is given 
to meditation, the indigo has no indo- 
lent days and is a happy, sunny-hearted 
creature: 
His attitudes are like the catbird’s— 
erecting crest, flirting body and tail, or 
drooping the latter in the precise man- 
ner of the catbird. Judged by indigo 
dress-standards, this bird is in an un- 
dress uniform, quite as undress as it is 
uniform; as somebody says, a result of 
the late moult. 
For all this his changeable suit is not 
only becoming, but decidedly modern— 
warp of blue and woof of green that 
change with changing light from in- 
digo to intense emerald. Then there 
are browns and drabs in striking con- 
trasts—colors worn by indigoes while 
young and inexperienced, the confused 
shades of the upper breast replaced by 
sparrowy stripes beneath. 
My bird is a night singer, pouring 
out his tuneful plaint as freely in the 
‘wee, sma’ hours,” as when the sun is 
shining; its notes as sweet as if he 
knew that if we mus¢singa night song it 
should be sweet that some heart may 
hear and be the better for our singing. 
Later in the day a purple finch in the 
cedar tangle challenged the vocalist in 
notes so entrancing that one’s breath 
was hushed involuntarily. 
The same finch sang freely during the 
entire season in notes replete with per- 
sonality, a distinct translation of the 
heart language. Others might sing 
and sing, but this superb voice rose 
easily above them all, a warbling, gurg- 
ling, effervescing strain, finished and 
polished in notes of infinite tenderness. 
Short conversations preceded and fol- 
lowed the musical ecstasy, a love song 
intended for one ear only, while wings 
twinkled and fluttered in rhythm with 
the pulsing heart of the melodist. No 
doubt he was telling of a future castle 
in the air beside which castles in Spain 
are of little value. 
PLANTING THE TREES. 
What do we plant when we plant the 
trees? 
We plant the ships which will cross the 
seas. 
We plant the mast to carry the sails, 
We plant the planks to withstand the 
gales— 
The keel, the keelson, and beams and 
knee; 
We plant the ship when we plant the 
{ree; 
What do we plant when we plant the 
tree? 
We plant the homes for you and me. 
We plant the rafters, the shingles, the 
floors, 
150 
We plant the studding, the laths, the 
doors, 
The beams, the sidings, all parts that be; 
We plant the home when we plant the 
tree. 
What do we plant when we plant the 
tree? 
A thousand things that we daily see. 
We plant the spires that outtower the 
crag, 
We plant the staff for our country’s flag, 
We plant the shade, from the hot sun 
free; 
We plant all these when we plant the 
tree. 
