GOLDEN GLOW AND HOLLYHOCKS 197 
Long ago, Mr. Percy explained the mattter to us. 
We heard a bird singing one day, and he told us 
to stand and listen. We could scarcely believe it 
was a catbird, yet we saw him plainly at the tip-top 
of the smoke-tree. The song was lively and bril- 
liant, full of quirks and strange notes, so rapid and 
varied that I cannot describe how it goes, although 
Joseph has learned to imitate it quite successfully. 
Any boy or girl who sees a catbird should not 
rest until his true song has been heard. It is an 
injustice to think he can sing no better than his 
sharp, unpleasant cry would indicate. The day we 
had the great storm we heard these birds contin- 
ually crying like cats. Their cry, however, is not 
a mew ; Mr. Percy says the sound to him is more 
like zeay! zeay! 
The catbirds are as familiar with our garden as 
the robins, wrens and other birds. Often one 
perches on our great-aunt’s blush-rose bush and 
gives us a twilight concert lasting nearly an hour. 
We have always thought that this particular cat- 
bird was the one whose nest we found some time 
ago in one of the lilacs by the stable. It had in it 
six eggs of a clear, greenish blue. 
The birds of our garden spend their days feed- 
ing their young, as soon as they are out of the shell. 
Consequently, the number of worms and insects 
they consume is considerable. As these creatures 
never have very charitable designs on our plants, 
we are more than pleased to have the birds devour 
