THE DEAD TREE’S DAY. 
103 
called in the distance, and the catbirds moved 
restlessly about from one part of the meadow 
to another, mewing, but nothing new appeared 
under the fog mantle. The spell was broken 
by the appearance of one of the small tyrant 
flycatchers, which are so difficult to identify 
during the migrations unless they are killed and 
closely examined. This one seemed to me to be 
a least flycatcher (.Empidonax minimus), there 
being almost no trace of yellow in his coloring. 
He flew from point to point, in or just over the 
bushes, catching small insects with vicious snaps 
of his beak. Apparently it was necessary, for 
the proper working of his machinery, to have 
his tail jerk spitefully several times a minute. 
About half past five three crows came to the 
big tree. One of them sailed softly by, but the 
other two alighted and began cawing in a fret¬ 
ful way. They were bedraggled with fog and 
dew, and their tones told of hunger and discom¬ 
fort. When they spoke, they thrust their heads 
far forward, giving them a low, mean air. They 
pulled viciously at their moist clothing, all the 
while keeping the keenest watch of their sur¬ 
roundings and the distance. Suddenly one of 
them saw me, and with a low croak flew away, 
his mate following. Again silence and fog pre¬ 
vailed. A cedar-bird, alighting on the tip of 
the old tree, seemed to shiver. He remained 
