ing into the
heart of snowy falls and cascades as if eager to join in the dance and
the song and beat the foam yet finer. Good work and happy work for the
merry mountain raindrops, each one of them a brave fall in itself,
rushing from the cliffs and hollows of the clouds into the cliffs and
hollows of the mountains; away from the thunder of the sky into the
thunder of the roaring rivers. And how far they have to go, and how many
cups to fill--cassiope-cups, holding half a drop, and lake basins
between the hills, each replenished with equal care--every drop God's
messenger sent on its way with glorious pomp and display of
power--silvery new-born stars with lake and river, mountain and
valley--all that the landscape holds--reflected in their crystal depths.

CHAPTER XIII

THE WATER-OUZEL

The waterfalls of the Sierra are frequented by only one bird,--the Ouzel
or Water Thrush (_Cinclus Mexicanus_, SW.). He is a singularly
joyous and lovable little fellow, about the size of a robin, clad in a
plain waterproof suit of bluish gray, with a tinge of chocolate on the
head and shoulders. In form he is about as smoothly plump and compact as
a pebble that has been whirled in a pot-hole, the flowing contour of his
body being interrupted only by his strong feet and bill, the crisp
wing-tips, and the up-slanted wren-like tail. Among all the countless
waterfalls I have met in the course of ten years' exploration in the
Sierra, whether among the icy peaks, or warm foot-hills, or in the
profound yosemitic canons of the middle region, not one was found
without its Ouzel. No canon is too cold for this little bird, none too
lonely, provided it be rich in falling water. Find a fall, or cascade,
or rushing rapid, anywhere upon a clear stream, and there you will
surely find its complementary Ouzel, flitting about in the spray, diving
in foaming eddies, whirling like a leaf among beaten foam-bells; ever
vigorous and enthusiastic, yet self-contained, and neither seeking nor
shunning your company.

[Illustration: WATER-OUZEL DIVING AND FEEDING.]

If disturbed while dipping about in the margin shallows, he either sets
off with a rapid whir to some other feeding-ground up or down the
stream, or alights on some half-submerged rock or snag out in the
current, and immediately begins to nod and courtesy like a wren, turning
his head from side to side with many other odd dainty movements that
never fail to fix the attention of the observe