Conspicuously Yellow and Orange 
Before and after the nesting season these active birds, plump 
of form, elegant of attire, forceful, but not bold, enter the scrubby 
pastures near our houses and the shrubbery of old-fashioned, 
overgrown gardens, and peer out at the human wanderer therein 
with a charming curiosity. The bright eyes of the male masquer- 
ader shine through his black mask, where he intently watches 
you from the tangle of syringa and snowball bushes ; and as he 
flies into the laburnum with its golden chain of blossoms that pale 
before the yellow of his throat and breast, you are so impressed 
with his grace and elegance that you follow too audaciously, he 
thinks, and off he goes. And yet this is a bird that seems to de- 
light in being pursued. It never goes so far away that you are 
not tempted to follow it, though it be through dense undergrowth 
and swampy thickets, and it always gives you just glimpse 
enough of its beauties and graces before it flies ahead, to invite 
the hope of a closer inspection next time. When it dives into the 
deepest part of the tangle, where you can imagine it hunting about 
among the roots and fallen leaves for the larve, caterpillars, spi- 
ders, and other insects on which it feeds, it sometimes amuses 
itself with a simple little song between the hunts. But the bird's 
indifference, you feel sure, arises from preoccupation rather than 
rudeness. 
If, however, your visit to the undergrowth is unfortunately 
timed and there happens to be a bulky nest in process of con- 
struction on the ground, a quickly repeated, vigorous chit, pit, 
quit, impatiently inquires the reason for your bold intrusion. 
Withdraw discreetly and listen to the love-song that is presently 
poured out to reassure his plain little maskless mate. The music 
is delivered with all the force and energy of his vigorous nature 
and penetrates to a surprising distance. ‘‘ Follow me, follow me, 
follow me,”” many people hear him say; others write the syllables, 
“Wichity, wichity, wichity, wichity’’; and still others write 
them, ‘‘/ beseech you, I beseech you, I beseech you,’ though the 
tones of this self-assertive bird rather command than entreat. 
Mr. Frank Chapman says of the yellowthroats: ‘They sing 
throughout the summer, and in August add a flight-song to their 
repertoire. This is usually uttered toward evening, when the bird 
springs several feet into the air, hovers for a second, and then 
drops back to the bushes.” 
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