BY THE WAYSIDE 
59 
mirth and explained: “The laugh is 
on me, boys. Some fellows telephoned 
in that there were men duck-hunting 
across the lake. So I came out here 
and when I saw you cutting across 
the marsh thought I would head 
you of. Well it’s all right boys, 
| so good-bye.” So saying he mounted 
his wheel and rode back to the city. 
We hurried homeward, but the storm 
i 
soon overtook us and when I, somewhat, 
I impatiently, urged my friend to go 
faster he replied good naturedly from 
behind his umbrella, “Cheer up, it is 
all for the cause of Science.” 
A Migration 
Clara Bates, Traverse City Mich. 
I count as one of the events of my 
life having been called as an earwitness 
of a spring migration. It was a bright 
starlight night, the second week in May. 
(Spring comes slowly in northern 
Michigan.) I was up very late for some 
reason, and it was well past midnight 
when I stepped to the door for a lung- 
bath of sweet spring air before going to 
my room. Suddenly the strangest 
feeling came over me, of mystery and 
awe, for out of the star-strewn dark 
the spaces were filled with song,—the 
birds were coming north again. 
Yes, it was one of the great spring 
migrations, and thousands and thou¬ 
sands of birds were passing swiftly 
overhead. First a long, whistling call 
came from the north; then a sweet 
answer sounded from another direction; 
then a liquid note directly overhead, 
and a faint, far whistle from a distant 
flock. It seemed like a rainstorm of 
sound falling entraneingly from the 
starlit sky, and I listened for a long, 
long time, finally falling to sleep to 
that strange spring lullaby. 
And in the morning spring and the 
birds were here. There was a flash of 
fire as the scarlet tanager flitted from 
bough to bough, and a gleam of gold 
where the goldfinch swung and sang. 
The cedar hedge was full of warblers, 
the blackthroated, blue, orange-throated, 
the myrtle, the yellow; while the black 
and white creepers, like tiny wood¬ 
peckers, slipped busily among the tall 
locusts intent on food. The redstart 
preened himself, careless of whom 
might see. The towhee scratched like 
a fussy chicken under the oaks. The 
beautiful rosebreasted grosbeak sur¬ 
veyed me leisurely from a nearby tree, 
and the kingbird claimed his rightful 
supremacy of the sky. A flock of win¬ 
ter residents, the purple finches sang 
entraneingly their rushing, gurgling, 
plaintive song. The white throated 
sparrows called 1 1 Sow wheat! Sow 
wheat!” from every tree on the lawn. 
The robins, and juncos seemed glad to 
welcome their little brothers of the air, 
and a sweet medley of sound announced 
that spring had really come. 
Bird Life in the North 
Some of the readers of Wayside 
would probably like to know if the bird 
life in the extreme north of the United 
States is much different than in their 
locality. In some ways it is. Here on 
Lake Superior we do not haA^e Bob 
White, at least I have never seen him, 
the snow is too deep in the winter. But 
the ruffed grouse or partridge is abund¬ 
ant, and seems to thrive well in the 
northern forest, for it is a bird of the 
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