RIFE WITH BIRDS. 159 



and olive back harmoniziBg — I had almost said 

 rhyming — with the gray of the creek's bed, the 

 crystal of the water, and the green of the thicket- 

 fringed banks. It was part and parcel of the scene, 

 — a lone bird in a lone place. But, hold ! not 

 lone, after all. Presently a young wagtail, the 

 image of its mamma, emerged from somewhere or 

 nowhere, and ran toward the old bird with open 

 mouth, twinkling wings, and a pretty, coaxing call. 

 She thrust something into its mouth ; but still the 

 bantling coaxed for more, when she dashed away a 

 few feet, picked up another tidbit from the water, 

 ran back to her little charge, and fed it again. But 

 now, when it still pursued her, she seemed to lose 

 her patience, for she rushed threateningly toward it, 

 causing it to scamper away, and then she flew off. 

 Yet after that she fed either the same or another 

 youngster a number of times. Once a water- thrush 

 went swinging down the gorge, the very poetry of 

 graceful poise and movement, looking more like a 

 naiad than a real flesh-and-blood birdlet. 



On a horizontal branch extending out over the 

 rippling stream, a wood-thrush sat on her mud 

 cottage ; but whether she appreciated the romantic 

 character of the situation or not, she did not say. 

 There were many other interesting feathered folk in 

 the gorge and on its Wooded steeps, each " a 

 brother of the dancing leaves ; " but to describe 

 them all would take too long, and merely to name 

 them would be too much like reciting a dry 

 catalogue. 



