1 68 THE FRIENDSHIP OF NATURE 



turning to their haunts in advance of 

 the general migration. 



It may be fancy perhaps, but I believe 

 that I can distinguish the birds that 

 have nested and brought out their young 

 in the garden, from the strangers; there 

 is something more friendly in those 

 that have let me watch them, that have 

 perched on my favourite arbour — 

 surely they ought to be more confiding 

 than the mere transients of passage. 

 There are many birds that we never see 

 here except during their migrations; 

 an innumerable list, topped by the 

 great fox-sparrow and dwindling to the 

 ruby-crowned kinglet. 



Two birds especially have lent me a 

 key to the situation: a male robin 

 with strange white markings on the 

 back, as if hoar frost had clung to his 

 feathers, and a catbird with a claw so 

 crumpled that he hopped on the ankle. 



