Listen, and you will hear at this moment the song of
bluebird, robin, both song and fox sparrow, phoebe, blue jay, high-holder,
and crow--that is, if you can call the notes of the last two birds a song."
"What a lovely chorus!" she cried, after a few moments' pause.
"Wait till two months have passed, and you will hear a grand symphony
every morning and evening. All the members of our summer opera troupe do
not arrive till June, and several weeks must still pass before the great
star of the season appears."
"Indeed! and who is he, or she?"
"Both he and she--the woodthrush and his mate. They are very aristocratic
kin of these robins. A little before them will come two other
blood-relations, Mr. and Mrs. Brownthrasher, who, notwithstanding their
family connection with the high toned woodthrush and jolly, honest robin,
are stealthy in their manner, and will skulk away before you as if ashamed
of something. When the musical fit is on them, however, they will sing
openly from the loftiest tree-top, and with a sweetness, too, that few
birds can equal."
"Why, Webb, you almost equal Dr. Marvin."
"Oh no; I only become acquainted with my favorites. If a bird is rare,
though commonplace in itself, he will pursue it as if it laid golden
eggs."
A howl from Ned proved that even the brightest days and scenes have their
drawbacks. The little fellow had been prowling around among the pails and
pans, intent on obtaining a drink of the sap, and thus had put his hand on
a honey-bee seeking the first sweet of the year.
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