Oven-bird 
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high among the tree-tops — is rarely heard, or 
if heard is not recognised as the teacher’s 
aerial serenade. He is a warbler, let it be re- 
corded, who really can sing, and beautifully, 
however rarely. 
Why is he called the oven-bird? A little 
girl I know was offered five dollars by her father 
if she could find the bird’s nest in the high dry 
woods near her home. “Teacher!” was the 
commonest sound that came from them. It 
rang in her ears all day, so of course she thought 
it would be ‘ ‘too easy’ ’ to earn the money. Every 
afternoon, when school was out, she tramped 
through the woods hour after hour, poking about 
among the dead leaves, the snapping twigs, 
the velvety moss, the fallen logs, the young 
spring growth of the little plants and creepers, 
always keeping her eyes on the ground where 
she knew the nest would be found. Day after 
day she continued the search. Every time she 
saw a little hump of dead leaves or twigs and 
grasses her heart bounded with hope, but on 
closer examination she found no nest at all. 
Finally, one day when she was becoming dis- 
couraged, she spied in the path a little brownish 
olive bird, about the size of an English sparrow, 
but with a speckled, thrush-like breast and a 
dull orange V-shaped patch, bordered by black 
lines, on the top of his head. He was walking 
about on the ground, nodding his head as if 
