MIGRATION. 
125 
gives shade, shelter, food, and many a comfort¬ 
able perch. While driving along the narrow 
roads, bordered by many a mile of rough stone 
wall, the rattle of my wagon wheels startles the 
sparrows and finches from their cover. The 
bay-wing runs along the rut in front of the 
horse; the goldfinch undulates over the field, 
turns, and ripples back; the song sparrow 
mounts a bush-top and scolds; the white-throat 
appears for a moment in a gap between the 
bushes and then goes on with his scratching in 
the leaves. So they go southward along the 
dusty roads, or the borders of dry field and 
dryer pasture. They are thousands strong, yet 
they look to be but a few each day, and the 
careless eye might think them always the same 
individuals from mid-August until Indian sum¬ 
mer. 
Sometimes alone, but often with the field 
sparrows and bay-wings, or later with the jun¬ 
cos, flocks of bluebirds travel the autumnal 
way. This year, on August 28, I saw a flock 
of twelve working slowly along a moor-like 
pasture ridge in company with double their 
number of sparrows. I have seen them by 
dozens in early October mingle with j uncos and 
white-throats in gleaning over the stubble just 
left bare by the melting of a first snowfall. As 
they fly from spot to spot, they prefer to alight 
