236 HOMING WITH THE BIRDS 



several hours at a stretch, monotonously, insis- 

 tently, yet in clear sweet tones, he cries: "Phoe-be, 

 Phoe-be!" After screaming for her insistently for 

 four years, the bird at last achieved the triumph of 

 bringing the young lady, who is now taking these 

 cries at my dictation. 



A near relative and sweeter singer is the wood 

 pewee, which builds its tiny and excjuisite lichen- 

 covered cup on oak and maple branches. He is 

 invaluable as a fly-catcher, being in the same class 

 with his cousin Phoebe, martins, and swallows. 

 His call note is clear and high "Pe-wee!" His 

 song consists of clearly uttered, exciuisitely in- 

 toned notes, drawn out, accented, and inflected, 

 according to the mood of the singer, usually deli- 

 cate and of fullest perfection just at the approach 

 of twilight, when most other birds are c|uiet. At 

 this hour there seldom is bird music, with the ex- 

 ception of the wood and hermit thrushes. The 

 pewee begins on a clear, high note, "pe," drops 

 a fourth, sings "A" and ends a minor third above 

 with "wee." Then he pauses, until you are exas- 

 perated with the waiting, and drops in a final note, 

 which is a pure pearl of sound and song, "peer!" 



In the orchard of the Cabin, south, and thickets, 

 surrounding the Cabin, north, we have constantly 

 in summer the conversational "Ker-rip.'^" of the 

 kingbird. Sometimes he asks the question without 

 the hyphen, sometimes he screams: "Quirp!" and 

 again — especially if he is issuing a challenge or 



