Onteora Notes 77 
tops. Not far from the doorstep a junco has 
built, and these little birds are constantly 
hopping about upon the veranda and doorsill 
so that they have become a part of the family. 
Members of the household too—but shy and 
distant ones—are the oven-birds who dwell 
under beech leaves amidst the shield ferns 
of the hillside in a little house more cunningly 
devised and more carefully concealed than 
any camp in the woods. Here they propose 
to bring up a family after the excellent tradi- 
tions, not of Onteora but of oven-birds— 
ancient traditions not disparaged however 
by those who lead here a pleasant wood life. 
Somewhat demure and retiring, the oven- 
bird overcomes his reticence now and again 
to fairly explode with—I say/ I say! Isay! 
I SAY! each syllable more fortissimo than the 
last, and then, as if embarrassed by his own 
temerity, instantly relapses into silence. To 
those who have merely a bowing acquaint- 
ance with him this is his one utterance, but 
the shy minstrel has a love-song which he 
sings on the wing for his mate and for his 
true friends only. John Burroughs, writing 
twenty-five years ago, alludes to there being 
little or no reference to this song of the oven- 
bird, and it is little known to this day, for it 
