THROUGH LIBRARY WINDOWS 25 



tie and precious wakening, his notes so quiet 

 and joyous and with such an endless play of 

 liquid sweetness, running with simplest grace 

 through all the charming snatches of best songs 

 he has picked up or better created on the spot 

 out of a glad, full heart. Ruth always throws 

 him something as a compensation, he prizes it, 

 and softly sings us to sleep again. 



How joyously Bob White calls out his own 

 name, as if in love with it, and perches on log 

 or stump and prophesies "more wet," and hits 

 it as oft as the weather bureau man. The Yel- 

 low Warbler flits about to his favorite thisdes 

 and gets but little, and blithely chirps as if it 

 were a feast. The Meadow Lark whirs vigor- 

 ously up from his favorite clover patch near 

 the stone wall. At eventide the Thrushes are 

 in fine voice, and use it to perfection and know 

 it — why not? So do all the best singers and 

 speakers among folk. But the Robin's plain- 

 tive vesper song with choice variations is surely 

 the popular choice of evening melodies. 



I wish everyone could have a garden and, 

 having it, knew enough and loved it enough to 

 care for it. To many it would be a torment, 

 and so would anything demanding cost and 

 care. Our garden is a perpetual delight. 

 Never more beautiful than at early morning 



