AMERICAN ORNITHOLOGY. 241 



ing just a few yards ahead, always keeping out of sight. Then I gave 

 up the chase, wearied, torn and somewhat ruffled in spirits, and turned 

 on my heel, and he laughed, wickedly, maliciously. 



Days lengthened into weeks. May 28th, found me sitting partially 

 concealed near the edge of an abandoned pond. It was in the center 

 of a small grove. A stream, the same mentioned above, entered the 

 pond at the upper end, all the surplus water running out over a low 

 place in the dam, thus forming a miniature Niagara, and then resum- 

 ing its course on down through the fields. The place was rarely visit- 

 ed by any one except myself. Weeds, thickets and scrubby growth 

 flourished. And I think this must have been the favorite resort of 

 every bird in the neighborhood. One could always find "something 

 doing" here. On this particular afternoon I watched a Dickcissel as 

 he foraged for worms, in a bit of marshy ground the other side of the 

 pond. He seemed to find the worms — I couldn't identify them — in 

 plenty. After he had gorged himself he stepped gingerly into the 

 shallow water, walking out to where it was probably an inch and a half 

 deep and then proceeded to take a bath. He seemed undecided just 

 how to do. In fact he looked scared. I think he was afraid he might 

 go under. He splashed lightly for about ten seconds and then abrupt- 

 ly left the water alighting on the top rail of a fence. And, oh my, how 

 glad he seemed that it was all over. One could almost see him heave 

 a sigh of relief. And just then another bird came for a plunge. It 

 was the Phoebe who had a nest up stream about a hundred yards 

 where the bridge crossed. He alighted on a dead limb about ten feet 

 above the center of the pond and from that vantage ground plunged 

 straight down into the water, as a King fisher would dive for his prey. 

 He was wholly under water for an instant then rose heavily to the 

 limb above. He repeated this performance three times, at intervals of 

 a few seconds. Then after fluttering and pruning his feathers for a 

 while, he returned to the bridge and his brooding mate. Following 

 him up stream with my eyes — just as he disappeared around the bend, 

 I observed another little bird coming down toward the pond, tripping 

 lightly along through the shallow water, now and then dexterously 

 flicking out of the little wavelets that rippled about his feet, something 

 which he hastily swallowed. As the bird neared me I recognized him 

 as a common Water Thrush, the first I had seen in years, nor have I seen 

 one since. He passed within a few feet of me and seemed to be eat- 

 ing the tadpoles with which the water teemed. In one place the bank 

 fell sheer into the water. Close to the edge grew a honey locust tree 

 and in the clear water below could be seen a tangled mass of roots 

 that grew from it. A short time before, one could see twined about 



