r mate until the last of June, or first part of July. The
tiny, little robbers ate up nearly all my sunflower seeds in the
garden last summer."

"Well," replied Mary, "you know, Professor, the birds must have food.
They are the farmer's best friend. I hope you don't begrudge them a
few sunflower seeds, I love birds. I particularly admire the
'Baltimore Oriole,' with their brilliant, orange-colored plumage; they
usually make their appearance simultaneously with the blossoms in the
orchard in the south meadow; or so Aunt Sarah tells me. I love to
watch them lazily swinging on the high branches of tall trees. On the
limb of a pear tree in the orchard one day, I saw firmly fastened, a
long, pouch-like nest, woven with rare skill. Securely fastened to the
nest by various colored pieces of twine and thread was one of smaller
size, like a lean-to added to a house, as if the original nest had
been found too small to accommodate the family of young birds when
hatched. The oriole possesses a peculiar, sweet, high-whistled trill,
similar to this--'La-la-la-la,' which always ends with the rising
inflection."

Fritz Schmidt, who had been listening intently to Mary, gravely
remarked, "An oriole built a nest on a tall tree outside my bedroom
window, and early every morning, before the family arise, I hear it
sing over and over again what sounds exactly like 'Lais Die Beevil!'
which translated means 'Read your Bible'."

"Even the birds are 'Dutch,' I believe, in Bucks County," said Fritz.
"I think these must be German Mennonites, there being quite a
settlement of these honest, God-fearing people living on farms at no
great distance from our place."

[Illustration: THE CANAL AT THE NARROWS]

As they drove along the country road, parallel with the Delaware
River, just before reaching the Narrows. Mary was greatly attracted by
the large quantities of yellow-white "sweet clover," a weed-like plant
found along the Delaware River, growing luxuriantly, with tall, waving
stems two to four feet high. The clover-like flowers, in long, loose
racemes, terminating the branches, were so fragrant that, like the
yellow evening primrose, the scent was noticeable long before one
perceived the flowers. And, strange to tell, sweet clover was never
known to grow in this locality until the seed was washed up on the
bank of the river some ten or twelve years previous to the date of my
story, when the Delaware River was higher than it was ever before
k