OUR FRIENDS, THE BIRDS. 163 
open, we may get acquainted with at least one variety 
during our vacation. I certainly shall try to, as Laura’s 
‘table’ has whetted my curiosity. I will read a poem 
that I like very much.” 
THE SANDPIPER. 
BY CELIA THAXTER,. 
Across the narrow beach we flit 
One little Sandpiper and I, 
And fast I gather, bit by bit, 
The scattered driftwood bleached and dry 
The wild waves reach their hands for it, 
The wild wind raves, the tide runs high, 
As up and down the beach we flit, 
One little Sandpiper and I. 
Above our heads the sullen clouds 
Scud black and swift across the sky. 
Like silent ghosts in misty shrouds 
Stand out the white lighthouses high. 
Almost as far as eye can reach 
I see the close-reefed vessels fly 
As fast we flit along the beach 
One little Sandpiper and I. 
I watch him as he skims along 
Uttering his sweet and mournful cry. 
He starts not at my fitful song, 
Or flash of fluttering-drapery; 
He has no thought of any wrong; 
He scans me with a fearless eye; 
Stanch friends are we, well-tried and strong, 
The little Sandpiper and I. 
