OUR FRIENDS, THE BIRDS. 147 
only opening the door to admit an unwary gnat that 
was passing by. 
“While he was amusing me by his lazy way of 
getting a breakfast, from out a clump of bushes, over 
the creek, came a bevy of Indigo-birds. They floated 
and danced, and whirled and sang. It was such a soft, 
joyous, sweet, little ‘laughlike’ song as they chased 
each other merrily over the grass and among the 
bushes. 
‘They seemed to be having a merry little game of 
some kind. Or were they taking a lesson in flight and 
music? Icould not tell. At any rate it must have 
been a happy lesson. 
‘“‘Since that, whenever I hear our little friend in 
indigo-blue, it brings up a picture of that bright June 
morning with its bright blue sky, of the hill by the 
creek, of the Kingbird on the tree, the rustic footbridge 
spanning the stream and the grand old forest of oaks 
stretching far away to the southward, and recalls the 
delightful sensation of being alone with Nature, and 
listening to one of her sweetest melodies. Such 
pictures form one of the most delightful features of bird 
study. I have a poem in the ‘ Youth’s Companion’ 
by Ethelwyn Wetherald delightfully descriptive of 
