slope. Meanwjiile the savanna sparrows had arrived and were en- 

 livening the muddy places, running in and out among the dead grasses 

 in playful pursuit of one another. At the first alarm they would 

 dive into the nearest cover of grass and weeds, only to reappear 

 quickly on the far side. As the season advanced the males mounted a 

 wood-pile or other conspicuous elevation, and uttered their weak, un- 

 musical songs. 



By the 15th or 20th of May the white-crowned sparrow made its 

 appearance, and, capturing the top of the wood-pile from its smaller 

 relative, favored us with its sweetly modulated song. About the 

 same time the common barn swallows were seen circling about, bub- 

 bling over with happy chuckling notes, as if rejoicing to be back again 

 after a winter in a far southern clime. By the middle of May the fox 

 sparrows were back, their first arrival being usually announced some 

 fine evening by their clear thrush-like whistle, usually from the top 

 of the cross on the old Russian church. 



As June arrived we caught glimpses of an occasional black- 

 cap, or a yellow warbler, as one or both species paid brief visits 

 to a little garden by the kitchen. The barn swallows were now hard 

 at work building nests about the eaves, struggling with unwieldy 

 feathers or trying to carry off straws. This work was commonly 

 varied by fierce battles between the pugnacious males, which often 

 rolled about on the ground and pummeled one another with surpris- 

 ing tenacity and vigor. All obstacles were finally overcome, and in 

 various snug nooks under the eaves the birds guarded their treasure- 

 filled nests. At the same time a pair of savanna sparrows kept ward 

 over their egg-laden nest behind the ice-house. 



Spring passed into summer, and from the middle of July until 

 well into August small birds made the vicinity of the houses a gen- 

 eral resort. The redpolls came in family parties all clad in dull colors, 

 for the rosy flush of youth had been worn from the parental breast 

 by the cares of family life. These little plebeians stuff themselves 

 with the good things they find in the garden and weed-patches, chirp- 

 ing and frolicking merrily. They infested the place, flitting about, 

 one moment see-sawing on a tall weed and the next hopping careless- 

 ly along the walk before one, or peering down from the eaves with 

 liliputian gravity. In return for this friendliness they were prime 

 favorites with all. The redpolls do not come alone, for in the yard, 

 and outside it, the bare ground is now the gathering place for young 

 Lapland longspurs, nearly as heedless of our presence as the redpolls. 

 They are, however, more sedate and business-like, and appear intent 

 on the search for food, running from place to place, their bills pointing 



35 



