OUR GUEST BOOK 



fer the room where the mourning dove was nesting on 

 the transom shelf, or the chamber over whose window 

 the wren's box hung! I did not choose to have a 

 mourning dove adopt a disused robin's nest for her own 

 two white eggs. I am not very fond of mourning doves 

 anyway on account of their melancholy call. But when 

 one threw herself so completely on our mercy, what 

 could we do but succor her? As to the wrens, noisy 

 they are but so happy and gay that the nearer they 

 come the better we like it. It is a case of love us, love 

 our wrens! 



When during the cool evenings of June and July 

 we are driven to the dining-room or hall for our open 

 fire as the living-room chimney has been preempted 

 by the swifts, a wonder sometimes creeps into my mind 

 if we are not being overindulgent toward our feathered 

 friends. But their graceful flight in the stormiest days 

 as well as their fondness for destructive insects prevents 

 any measures being taken to discourage them. 



A great musician, composer, and conductor honored 

 our rooftree one spring before his own beloved moun- 



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