206 WINTER SKETCHES. 



on a spike near by, and began to flirt its tail in a 

 nervous, uneasy way, as if confused or ashamed 

 of being seen in such lowly situations. 



It soon flew down again, however, on the green 

 turfy hummocks, and began to search for food as 

 before. From my standpoint I could see, though 

 not plainly enough to identify the species with 

 unaided eyes, the little bunch of grayish feathers 

 half hopping, half flying along as if it disliked to 

 wet its feet. Moving back a short distance to 

 prepare my glass, I frightened the adventurous 

 little stranger away. It flew far over the tall 

 reeds and was lost to sight. It was too bad thus 

 to lose my treasure, but I was not long despond- 

 ent, for in a half hour afterward, while looking at 

 some catkins further on, my good fortune unex- 

 pectedly turned or flew up again and alighted on 

 the tip of a broken alder, not three rods away. 

 At first I thought it to be one of the early finches, 

 a bay-wing or a song-sparrow, but as I placed its 

 image on the object glass and viewed it closely I 

 found it was a true fly-catcher, the bridge pewee 

 or Phebe bird. The saucy, pugnacious head, the 

 black, slender, straight-edged bill, the dark-brown 

 wings and tail, and the general resemblance to 

 the tyrants, were unmistakable. What, then, were 

 the circumstances connected with his life, that 

 had brought this travel-stained wayfarer here, 

 three or four weeks earlier than his chroniclers 



