Mar., 1918 A RETURN TO THE DAKOTA LAKE REGION 69 



she made no sign; and as if feeling his dismissal final, lie flew baek to the gar- 

 den, presumably leaving the field to a third Meadowlark who was waiting as 

 if to see what the decision of the lady might be. 



His love song, especially as given in flight, is a musical rhapsody, an elab- 

 orate musical performance suggestive of the enraptured flight song of the 

 Oven-bird, altogether apart from the rich, uplifted songs of both eastern and 

 western Meadowlarks. 



The season of song varied somewhat with the birds. A Vesper Sparrow 

 was heard July 12th singing with such sweetness and fervor that I imagined a 

 second nest was in progress, while both House Wren and Song Sparrow sang 

 enthusiastically, and the Sora Rail joyfully the second w T eek in August. In the 

 main, however, the lovely song of the Meadowlark stood out with peculiar 

 charm in the August dearth of song. 



In June and July the tinkle of the Horned Lark was often heard from the 

 piazza, for the birds were attracted by the large black-earthed square of the 

 vegetable garden, as a family of Killdeer were attracted to the soft earth 

 of the potato patch. But our most striking visitors were the handsome Yellow- 

 headed Blackbirds who came from their marsh nesting grounds to the garden 

 for worms. Between times they sat around on fence post or wagon wheel 

 looking very much overdressed with their low-cut orange vests, at intervals 

 giving vent to their feelings in curious fashion. One of their calls suggested the 

 hrup of the Red-headed Woodpecker; another, too harsh and strident for such 

 elegant personages, might have suggested an exaggerated Redwing o-ka-let, 

 but was in reality a strange oak -oak -kali, so run together that the k's gave a 

 sustained throaty effect. The Yellow-head's song was even more peculiar than 

 his call. Raising his head he started out not unmusically, but followed with an 

 awful strangling utterance, after which he serenely put his head down and 

 sang a low rhapsody full of delightful musical murmurings! Such originality 

 carried into every day life would surely make him an enlivening companion ! 



Several times, as I sat writing on the piazza, I looked up just in time to 

 see a brown Duck furtively waddling by along the protecting bottom of a ter- 

 race ; but hunt as I might, I never succeeded in discovering her nest. 



In the late afternoons the rattle of old Polly's hoofs would make me look 

 up quickly to greet our little school boy, home again from his daily three mile 

 ride across the prairie. And later, when he had taken a look at his new brother, 

 at the sound of loping feet I would see him again, on a fresh horse, racing bare- 

 back down the wheat fields to bring in the cows for the evening milking. In 

 the barn yard at one time were found some of the repulsive looking mud pup- 

 pies chanced on in other places, one half buried in a mound of soft earth — 

 big black, lizard-like creatures, sometimes spotted with yellow, with round pup- 

 py heads, soft bodies, and thin, high paddle-like tails which they whipped 

 around to terrorize inquisitive chickens and other too familiar observers. A 

 plague of these horrid, uncanny creatures appeared at times, as once during a 

 storm when so many took refuge in a cook car, that they had to be shovelled 

 out of the door, the Norwegian cook informed me. 



From the piazza of the farmhouse many a beautiful picture was seen 

 during the season. Gorgeous sunsets w r ere so frequent in this lake region with 

 its heavy summer storms that they were one of my greatest pleasures. One 

 June night when the wind was shifting and the sky breaking away after a 

 storm— low buffy clouds blowing southwest — the sun shot out blindingly in the 



