came flying
down the cascades, and so near to the surface of the water that he
seemed to be tumbling and sliding down with it. He alighted on a
boulder near us, made two or three pleasant curtsies, and started to
sing one of his low, sweet songs. He was doing the very thing of which
I had so often told Harriet. We watched and listened with breathless
interest. In the midst of the song he dived into the brook; in a
moment he came up with a water-bug in his bill, settled on the boulder
again, gave his nods, and resumed his song, seemingly at the point
where he left off. After a few low, sweet notes he broke off again and
plunged into the water. This time he came up quickly and alighted on
the spot he had just left, and went on with his song without any
preliminaries and as if there had been no interruption.

The water-ouzel is found by the alpine lakes and brooks on the
mountains of the West. It is a modest-appearing bird, about the size
of a thrush, and wears a plain dress of slaty blue. This dress is
finished with a tail-piece somewhat like that of the wren, though it
is not upturned so much. The bird seems to love cascades, and often
nests by one. It also shows its fondness for water by often flying
along the brook, following every bend and break made by the stream,
keeping close to the water all the time and frequently touching it.
Over the quiet reaches it goes skimming; it plunges over the
waterfalls, alights on rocks in the rapids, goes dashing through the
spray, its every movement showing the ecstasies of eager life and joy
in the hurrying water. Our ouzel was quietly feeding on the edge of
the brook, when Harriet said good-bye as our ponies started up the
trail.

Harriet had never been in school, but she could read, write, and sing.
She had good health, and a brighter, cheerier little girl I have never
seen. As we rode up the trail through the woods, the gray Douglas
squirrels were busy with the harvest. They were cutting off and
storing cones for winter food. In the treetops these squirrels seemed
to be bouncing and darting in all directions. One would cut off a
cone, then dart to the next, and so swiftly that cones were
constantly dropping. Frequently the cones struck limbs and bounded as
they fell, often coming to the ground to bounce and roll some distance
over the forest floor. An occasional one went rolling and bouncing
down the steep mountain-side with two or three happy chipmunks in
jolly pursuit.

W