410 NOTES ON THE 
the delicious Blue Bird or the elegant Oriole. Let it be the 
humble country home of toil or the luxurious mansion where 
wealth is lavished on the garden, in either case the Catbird 
claims the rights of squatter sovereignty. He flirts saucily 
across the well-worn path that leads to the well and sips the 
water that collects in the shallow depression upon the flag- 
stone. Down in the tangle of the moist dell, where stands the 
spring-house with its cool, crisp atmosphere, redolent of but- 
tery savor, where the trickling water is perpetual, he loiters. 
at ease and from the hearts of the greenbrier makes bold ad- 
vances to the milk-maid who brings the brimming bowls. 
‘‘In the pasture beyond he waits for the boy who comes whist- 
ling after the cows, and follows him home by the blackberry 
road that lies along the zigzag fence, challenging the carelessly 
thrown stone he has learned to dodge with ease. He joins the 
berrying party fresh from school, soliciting a game of hide-and- 
seek, and laughs at the mishap that never fails when children 
try the brier patch. Along the hedgerow he glides with short 
easy flights to gain the evergreen coppice that shades a corner 
of the lawn, where he pauses to watch the old gardener trim- 
ming the boxwood, or rolling the gravel walk, or making the 
flower bed, wondering why some people will take so much 
trouble when everything is nice enough already. 
‘“‘Hiver restless and inquisitive he makes for the well known 
arbor to see what may be going on there. What he discovers 
is certainly none of his business. The rustic seat is occupied; 
the old, old play is in rehearsal, and at the sight of the blush- . 
ing cheeks that respond to passionate words the very roses on 
the trellis hang their envious heads. The spectacle tickles his 
fancy. Always ripe for mischief he startles the loving pair 
with his quick, shrill cry, like a burlesque of the kiss just 
heard, and chuckles at their little consternation. ‘It is only a 
Catbird’ they reassuringly say, yet there are times when the 
slightest jar is a shock, and pledges that hang in a trembling 
balance may never be redeemed. ‘Only a Catbird’ meanwhile 
remembers business of his own and is off. The practical ques- 
tion of dining recurs. He means to dine sumptuously, and so 
like the French philosopher place himself beyond the reach of 
fate, but nature in the month of May is full of combustible 
material, and the very atmosphere is quick to carry the torch 
that was kindled in the arbor. His fate meets him in the only 
shape that could so far restrain masculine instincts as to post- 
pone a dinner. 
