were hundreds of Western Robins, and birds were so thick 
that foliage could scarcely be seen. On the topmost branches 
of one tree, 182 birds were counted, on another, 115, and on 
another, 84, and this count was only a beginning. 
A sound startled the multitude and with a whir of 
wings, they were away, circling around, dropping lower and 
lower until they settled far down on the hillside. The 
observers followed on foot into a low copse of alders and 
young firs where the branches of every tree quivered with 
the movements of its heavy burdens. 
A deep wagon track of an old wood road was there | 
filled with water, and it was serving as a drinking place, for 
dozens of waxwings and robins fluttered up and down, in 
and out, crowding gently into the lines which edged the 
narrow pool. The expressive crests of the waxwings had a 
knowing air showing that to them the place was not “dry” 
as they politely gave place one to another. An occasional 
robin displayed such big, white banner marks on the inner 
webs of his tail feathers, as he whisked about, indicating | 
that an American Robin of the other side of the Rocky 
Mountains had strayed out of his range as he followed the 
whims of the waxwings. | 
But the Bohemian Waxwings and the Western Babi 
were there by the hundreds, possibly thousands, and there © 
was also a number of the common Waxwings or Cedarbirds. 
The air thrilled with the harmony of their voices. The early 
spring “cherry” of the robins was much louder than the 
soft twitterings of the waxwings, whose undertones in the - 
chorus gave hints that their melody was learned in a far 
Northland where one scarcely dared break the silence of 
eternal Snows on vast stretches of tundras. 
It was noticeable that the two families of birds were 
friendly with each other, but not familiar, for one tree 
usually held but one kind of birds, although the next might | 
be overloaded with the other. Neither clan was timid and > 
64 
