UNDER THE APPLE-TREES 
doubled up and fell fluttering to the ground, pre- 
cisely as if she had been shot. It was a surprising 
performance. It is highly probable that it was the 
first time she ever did the trick, but she did it to per- 
fection. Had we followed her, doubtless she would 
have given us another exhibition of her art of make- 
believe. 
Strange to say, after all her concern for the safety 
of her eggs, the bird deserted her nest. My friend 
suggested that it was because we touched one of her 
eggs; but, as birds have little or no powers of smell, 
this reason seems inadequate. Rather am I inclined 
to believe that some accident befell the bird. 
Equally surprising is it to see this stupid-looking 
mud-prober transformed into an ecstatic song-bird 
under the influence of the mating-instinct. Whoever 
has witnessed its hurried spiral flight in the March 
and April twilights, and heard its curious smacking, 
gurgling notes rain down out of the obscurity of a 
couple of hundred feet of air, has been present at one 
of the surprising incidents in the life of this bird. 
Love not only makes the songless woodcock vocal; 
it puts a new song into the throats of many of our 
birds. The oven-bird, the meadowlark, the purple 
finch, the goldfinch, and certain of the sparrows and 
warblers are keyed up to the point where the flight- 
song, or song of ecstasy, is the natural expression of 
the bird soul. The jays and crows also become 
musical, and the woodpeckers drum in varying keys 
76 
