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up the river with a steady dip of broad wings. An object I had 
noticed while gazing at the river was now opposite me in the 
middle of the stream. With the aid of my field glasses I made 
out an American scaup duck, a bird seldom seen in this part of 
the country. Later on I was told by an authoritative party, 
that he had found a scaup’s nest in this locality, which, if true, 
is indeed a record, as they are seldom found breeding below the 
northern tier of states. This find, indeed, is worthy of record. 
Walking back from the river again, I was soon in the very 
thickest part of these delightful woods. The growth in this 
part is so dense that the sunlight fails to pierce the thick foliage. 
A clear, plaintive note, “pee-a-wee” greeted my ears from the 
depth of this shady nook. Again came that clear note, “pee- 
a-wee,” which I consider one of the sweetest notes in all bird- 
dom. There is something so pure and sincere about this not 
unmusical call that issues from the throat of one of our smallest 
flycatchers that I cannot help commenting upon it. Finally, 
after diligently searching the shadows, I found the source of 
this particular call, a wood pewee, a quite unassuming gray- 
coated little fellow, perched on a branch of a tall oak about 
twenty feet from the ground. Careful searching, however, 
failed to reveal his mate or a nest. 
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