82 ON THE BIRDS' HIGHWAY 



As we rumbled along, from the cool 

 pine woods, black-throated green warblers 

 could be heard above the noise of the wheels 

 and squeaking whifBe-tree. A black-billed 

 cuckoo crossed the road ahead of us into 

 a patch of birches. By a rocky bare hill- 

 top a bob-white was calling. Kingbirds 

 quarrelled as they tumbled overhead on 

 wing. A phoebe sat motionless on the 

 ridge pole of a roadside shed. Bobolinks 

 rose singing from an unmowed hay field. 

 Goldfinches swung down the road before 

 us and vesper sparrows dropped over the 

 walls into the meadows. Red-eyed vireos 

 sang on every hand. We stopped at an 

 old unshingled house and I got down for 

 a stroll. Behind the orchard a pond, 

 which through the kindness of Uncle Sam 

 had been stocked with German carp, lay 

 among birches and pines. The big fish 

 came to the surface to be fed with bread 

 from the hand. About the pond circled 

 three night hawks; a Maryland yellow- 

 throat was singing down the brook, and 

 out of a thicket where meadowsweet and 

 fire-weed grew a catbird poured his solil- 

 oquy. Of a sudden the plaintive song of 

 a white-throated sparrow drifted down 



