50 WAKE-ROBIN 
coward, and shows the white feather at the slightest 
display of pluck in his antagonist. I have seen him 
turn tail to a swallow, and have known the little 
pewee in question to whip him beautifully. From 
the great-crested to the little green flycatcher, their 
ways and general habits are the same. Slow in 
flying from point to point, they yet have a wonder- 
ful quickness, and snap up the fleetest insects with 
little apparent effort. There is a constant play of 
quick, nervous movements underneath their outer 
show of calmness and stolidity. They do not scour 
the limbs and trees like the warblers, but, perched 
upon the middle branches, wait, like true hunters, 
for the game to come along. ‘There is often a very 
audible snap of the beak as they seize their prey. 
The wood pewee, the prevailing species in this 
locality, arrests your attention by his sweet, pathetic 
cry. There is room for it also in the deep woods, 
as well as for the more prolonged and elevated 
strains. 
Its relative, the phebe-bird, builds an exquisite 
nest of moss on the side of some shelving cliff or 
overhanging rock. The other day, passing by a 
ledge near the top of a mountain in a singularly 
desolate locality, my eye rested upon one of these 
structures, looking precisely as if it grew there, so 
in keeping was it with the mossy character of the 
rock, and I have had a growing affection for the 
bird ever since. The rock seemed to love the nest 
and to claim it as its own. I said, what a lesson 
in architecture is here! Here is a house that was 
