50 THE CONDOR Vol. XIX 



of the Varied Thrush, rarest of singers, could be distinguished coming from the 

 top of the ridge above. 



The back piazza that afforded a beautiful view of the blue Bay framed 

 between conifers, also gave glimpses of some of the forest birds attracted to 

 the dense young spruces back of the house. The Chestnut-backed Chickadee 

 was one of the most interesting in its protective coloration, the dark flat brown 

 of its back looking like applied cloth in the dark forest where, while it did not 

 match anything, the patch seemed to detach itself from the form of the bird, 

 toning into the somber forest background as effectively as did the dark browns 

 of the northwest coast Wrens and Song Sparrows. When a family of Chicka- 

 dee young were seen trailing after their parents on the edge of the clearing I 

 noted that the white patch on the side of the head was clear and keen enough 

 to help the brood keep together. But in. spite of that light touch the Chestnut- 

 backs seemed peculiarly characteristic birds of the dark Humid Coast forests, 

 and in the rainy season, nothing daunted, they flitted about the dripping 

 branches of the Sitka spruces singing their cheerful Chickadee ditty — Swee-ah- 

 zee'-zee-zec, Swee' -ah-swee-see' ' . 



Around the house and in the low greenery on the edge of the clearings in 

 early June I was continually hearing or meeting with the Golden Pileolated 

 Warbler — charming little creature with its jet black cap, vivid golden dress, 

 and pretty ways — peering out at me from between the green leaves and then 

 with a flat chip dashing out across the opening like a flash of bright sunshine. 

 Often when the bird was invisible I recognized its loud rapid accelerated and pos- 

 sibly rather harsh chat-ah-chat-ah-chat-ah-chat-ah-cha, at times preluded by a 

 fine liquid run that was delightfully musical. 



In the young Sitka spruces around the house and on the edge of the clear- 

 ing, a family of Golden-crowned Kinglets were often seen fluttering up under 

 the long drooping terminal sprays of a spruce or flitting about among the dark 

 branches, busy little mortals, appearing only to disappear, before I could focus 

 my glass on them. Once as one of them fell through the air I caught a glimpse 

 of the golden crown of the adult and again caught the white line over the eye 

 of a young one, perhaps the very one that entered our open door that afternoon. 



Another day when one I took to be a Kinglet parent had crossed the trail 

 to a low tree and wished its family to follow^, it gave a small double note that I 

 had not heard before and the whole band went obediently trooping across the 

 open to join it. On a warm afternoon the little family was found in the shelter 

 of a sunny grove of low trees on the edge of the garden, the grove where the 

 Screech Owl family afterwards slept in the day time, and where blue sky could 

 be seen through the chinks, high ferns making an attractive enclosure. They 

 were a happy busy little family going about full of small talk in high-pitched 

 notes such as ziz-iz-iz-iz-iz and zeegle-zeek, tiny dainty creatures, the young 

 ones still with fuzzy heads. The characteristic thin ti-ti, tititi, was often heard 

 in the tall conifers, and late one afternoon when coming up the board walk I 

 found a family apparently going to roost for the night in the top of a big Sitka 

 spruce so high overhead that it made my neck ache to watch them as they flit- 

 ted about with a flip of the wing and finally disappeared in the deep shadows 

 of the thick branches. 



On the edge of the vegetable garden the second week in June when we 

 were still getting drizzling foggy days, a family of the musical Seattle Wrens, 

 with long barred tail and white line over the eye were going about together, 



