ANOTHER MAY MORNING. 69 



hours of the dawn. Before the earliest laborer was 

 astir, going forth to his work, this little builder was 

 busy at hers. 



The Baltimore is not the only bird that might be 

 called a weaver. There are many foreign birds remark- 

 able for their ingenuity in such work. The little Taylor 

 Bird, which sews two leaves together as with a needle 

 and thread, is one of these wonderful bird architects. 



Here at my door is another of my little friends, the 

 Chestnut-crowned Sparrow, of which I have already 

 spoken in the preceding chapter. This familiar, social 

 little bird is one of the earliest to make its appearance 

 about our homes and gardens, and is always welcome. 

 It is as friendly in its ways as the dear robin used to be 

 in the Old -Country, and we reward it by treating it to 

 crumbs from the table and any dainty little scraps that 

 are at hand. 



It is the very smallest of our birds — the smallest, I 

 think, of all the many species of the sparrow family — 

 and is so harmless and useful that it has many friends. 

 A gentle, kindly little creature, it hops confidingly about 

 our pathways and on the verandas, evidently in full 

 confidence of being welcome at all times. 



The name " Chipping Sparrow," which is often applied 

 to it, arises from its weak note, " Chip, chip." Sometimes 

 it raises a cheerful little attempt at a song, but the effort 

 does not amount to much. 



The reddish spot on its head is an unmistakable mark 

 6 



