126 Bird -Lore 



ence of my two friends and myself. Once it dropped the leaf, but immediately 

 picked it up and carried it back to the tree. A boy passed on the sidewalk 

 below. The bird flew to a higher branch. At last its purpose seemed to be ac- 

 compHshed. It rested, and Ufted the leaf by the petiole. We then saw that the 

 hammering had made it into a firm brown ball nearly as large as an oak gall. 

 The bird flew with it behind the kitchen-ell of the cottage. We hurried around, 

 and were met by the Titmouse, empty-billed, who looked at us with an inno- 

 cent, nonchalant air. Had it dropped the ball into its nest-hole? — Lucy H. 

 Upton. 



[Who can add any information which will throw light on this unusual observation? 

 —A. H. W.] 



TWILIGHT HOUR AT ASHAWAY 



The western sky, soft tinted with the hues of setting sun, 

 Lends beauty to the twilight shadows lengthening one by one, 

 Twined mystic'lly together by the stirring April breeze 

 That sends a message of awakening through the leafless trees. 



The fresh, cool air, bearing the scent of new-ploughed earth 

 Gives promise of the future harvest soon to have its birth, 

 When garden, field and orchard, now wearing brown and gray, 

 Shall change these duller colors for the vernal green of May; 



The farmer reads the happy signs and whistles in true glee 

 Jangling in haste his cans and milk-pails merrily; 

 While lazy cattle straggle up the rocky barnyard way. 

 And the impatient horses paw and whinny for their hay. 



A scuffle and a cackle in the hen-coop near at hand 

 Give token where the mother hen broods o'er her fledgling band, 

 And Spotty seeks the hay-mow, purring loudly in her pride. 

 For there, in safety waiting her, three kittens do abide. 



The Robins and the Bluebirds call and answer all around. 



And the cheerful little peeptoads seem to crowd the air with sound, — 



And yet it is not noisy. Joyous peace is everywhere, 



And a consciousness of Heaven makes the twilight hour more fair. 



— Ruth R. Hayden. 



[This poem was written by a student in The Rhode Island State Normal School. It 

 is of unusual interest since the author, although blind, undertook the course in nature- 

 study and succeeded so well that her instructor writes: "I am tempted to say that only 

 those are blind who won't see. I am convinced that the subject is most valuable for 

 classes in schools of the blind." See Bird-Lore, Vol. XIII, No. 6, p. 316. — A. H. W.] 



