70 BIED STORIES FROM BURROUGHS 



about over the leaves, moving its head like a 

 little hen ; then perches on a limb a few feet from 

 the ground and sends forth its shrill, rather prosy, 

 unmusical chant. Surely it is an ordinary, com- 

 monplace bird. But wait till the inspiration of 

 its flight-song is upon it. What a change ! Up 

 it goes through the branches of the trees, leaping 

 from limb to limb, fd^ster and faster, till it shoots 

 from the tree-tops fifty or more feet into the air 

 above them, and bursts into an ecstasy of song, 

 rapid, ringing, lyrical; no more like its habitual 

 performance' than a match is like a rocket ; brief 

 but thrilling; emphatic but musical. Having 

 reached its climax of flight and song, the bird 

 closes its wings and drops nearly perpendicularly 

 downward like the skylark. If its song were more 

 prolonged, it would rival the song of that fa- 

 mous bird. The bird does this many times a day 

 during early June, but oftenest at twilight. 



About the first of June there is a nest in the 

 woods, upon the ground, with four creamy-white 

 eggs in it, spotted with brown or lilac, chiefly 

 about the larger ends, that always gives the 

 walker who is so lucky as to find it a thrill of 

 pleasure. It is like a ground sparrow's nest with 

 a roof or canopy to it. The little brown or olive 

 backed bird starts away from your feet and runs 

 swiftly and almost silently over the dry leavesj^ 



