The Fox Sparrows 



him as he is busily scratching among the fallen alder leaves. Scratching 

 is hardly the word, though, for the bird leaps forward and executes an 

 extravagant double kick backward, landing invariably at the edge of 

 the cleared space. Here, without a moment's delay, he proceeds to 

 glean busily, whereas you rather expected him to pause at the end of 

 his stunt, like the acrobat, awaiting the conventional burst of applause. 

 If you must needs pursue the path, he hops back into the thicket and 

 the show is over for that day, or, perchance, for the novice, for that 

 season. 



It is by diligent screeping, however, that one may summon the 

 Fox Sparrow population for registration and review. One chooses a 

 humble station, partly screened, and kisses the back of the hand, in 

 simulation of a young bird's distress cry. There is a rustle in the thicket, 



Taken on Carroll Islet 



Photo by the Author 



NEST, WITH YOUNG, OF SOOTY FOX SPARROW 



the sound of bird-feet on branches faintly creaking, and of impinging 

 twigs. Presently there is a faint tsook of inquiry, and a form emerges 

 ten feet away, quiet, demure, attentive. Another and another appears 



373 



