ach other pell
mell--sometimes almost into my face. As I sat by the bush one day, a
handsome male went around with upraised throat, poking his bill up the
red fuchsia-like tubes. Another one was flying around inside the bush,
and I edged nearer to see. The sun shone in, whitening the twigs, and as
the bird whirred about with a soft burring sound, I caught gleams of
red, gold, and green from his gorget, and could see the tiny bird rest
his wee feet on a twig to reach up to a blossom. Then he hummed what
sounded more like a love song than anything I had ever heard from a
hummingbird. He seemed so much more like a real bird than any of his
brothers that I felt attracted to him.

One morning a little German girl, in a red pinafore, and with hair
flying, came riding down the sand stream toward my bush. Her colt reared
and pranced, but she sat as firmly as if she had been a small centaur.
It was a holiday, and she was staking out her horses to graze, making
gala-day work of it. She had one horse down by the little oak already,
and springing off the one she had brought, changed about, jumped as
lightly as a bird upon the other's back and raced home. Soon she came
galloping back again, and so she went and came until tired out, for pure
fun on her free holiday.

In looking over the bright memory pictures of my beautiful oak garden,
there is one to which I always return. The spreading trunks of a great
five-stemmed tree on one side of the grove made a dark oaken couch,
screened by the leafy willow-like branches that hung to the ground.
Here--after looking to see that there were no rattlesnakes coiled in the
dead leaves--I spent many a dreamy hour, reclining idly as I listened to
the free songs of the birds that could not see me behind my curtain. It
was interesting to note the way certain sounds predominated; certain
songs would absorb one's attention, and then pass and be replaced by
others. At one time a jay's scream would jar on the ear and drown all
other voices; when that had passed, the chewinks would fly up from the
leaves and sing and answer each other till the air was quivering with
their trills. Then came the thrashers, with their loud rollicking songs;
and when they had pitched down into the brush, out rang the clear
bell-like tones of the wren-tit, filling the air with sound. Afterwards
the impatient whipped-out notes of the chaparral vireo were followed by
the soft cooing of doves; and then, as the wind stirred the