ater beneath. A flash in the air, a splash in the water, and the
"expert angler" dashes triumphantly home, his watchman's rattle
announcing victory and fresh supplies to the awkward squad of baby
kingfishers deep in the clay bank awaiting his arrival.

Back in the meadows where thistles and wild lettuce are going to seed,
the hard-bills spend their holidays. Goldfinches cling to the thistle
tops, merry little clowns in yellow and black, antic tumblers no less
agile and versatile than the chickadee. Dickcissels search the purple
ironweeds for provender, and song sparrows flit along the blossoming
fence rows. Kingbirds perch at a point of vantage and watch their
chance for a dash at a grasshopper. Fine fighters these fellows, fully
equal to defending their well-feathered nests against all comers, and
therefore disdaining concealment. Bluebirds carol high in the air their
song of peace on earth and goodwill to man. Humming birds hover over
the milkweeds, bent on extracting not honey only, but toothsome insects
from the rosy blooms.

The tall oaks are sought out by the orioles, tanagers and grosbeaks,--a
brilliant and tuneful company. Here, too, the vireos, warbling,
red-eyed, white-eyed and yellow-throated, spy out invisible insects
under the growing leaves. Warblers throng the woods in May and June,
reveling in the bursting buds; but most of them have pushed on to
Canada for the summer season. Only the black and white creeper remains
to nest in Wisconsin. The resounding tattoo of the high-hole rings from
the hole of a blasted tree. The wood looks as if riddled with bullets.
The red-headed woodpecker follows close on his yellow-winged cousin.
Both find an abundant supply of ants in the decaying forest. High in a
fork of the branches the red-tailed hawk pitches his tent, a ragged,
black wigwam, rivaling that of the crow for size and inaccessibility.

The haunts of men are not wholly eschewed by our little brothers of the
air. The peewee loves to place his nest under the eaves of a sheltering
porch, and the phoebe is no less sociable. The presence of human
beings does not at all disconcert their housekeeping arrangements. I
have seen a young brood fed and fondled, and finally piloted forth for
their first journey in the world, within ten feet of a hammock full of
children.

To see the water birds at home one should take a boat in the early
morning or toward nightfall, and float silently on the open bosom of
the lake. The