138 ON THE BIRDS' HIGHWAY 



for the rising of the sun every dawn be- 

 hind Lyon Mountain as he crosses the 

 lake for the milk ? The morning plunge 

 was taken shortly before eight, when the 

 blessed sun could warm with its vigorous 

 rays one's shoulders while dressing, or, if 

 the morning air were too chilly, a fire on 

 the hearth took its place. Breakfast over, 

 a little journey along the brook through 

 the alders was always taken to see what 

 the nightly migration had brought. One 

 morning it might 

 be a yellow-bellied 

 flycatcher, another 

 a shy water-thrush, 

 while yet again one 

 might miss the 

 Connecticut warbler 

 that chucked from 

 a clump of under- 

 brush the previous 

 morning. " The Alders," as they came 

 to be called, was where one met the 

 warbler and the vireo contingent in gen- 

 eral, a stray pigeon hawk, an occasional 

 downy or hairy woodpecker, a perfect 

 congress of blue jays, a winter wren, a 

 song sparrow, a golden-crowned kinglet. 



