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In my neighborhood here in the Highlands the distribution is very marked. South of the village I invariably find one species of birds, north of it another. In only one locality, full of azalea and swamp-huckleberry, I am always sure of finding the hooded warbler. In a dense undergrowth of spice-bush, witch-hazel, and alder, I meet the worm-eating warbler.
Birds that are not attracted by the heath, or the cedar and chestnut, are sure to find some excuse for visiting this miscellaneous growth in the centre. Most of the common birds literally throng in this idle-wild; and I have met here many of the rarer species, such as the great-crested flycatcher, the solitary warbler, the blue-winged swamp warbler, the worm-eating warbler, the fox sparrow, etc.
"It's my opinion," he went on, "that Grandfather Mole has eaten all the worms that lived in the ground; and now he's hoping to find some in the air." Although everybody laughed at such a notion, the Worm-eating Warbler declared that he had a right to his own belief.
Spending a summer in Pleasant Valley was a small gentleman of the well known Warbler family, who had so great a liking for worms that he was known as the Worm-eating Warbler. This tiny person spent little or none of his time in the tree-tops, but chose to stay near the ground. And more than once he had seen Grandfather Mole in Farmer Green's garden.
"Why don't you live up here where you can get plenty of fresh air and sunshine?" he asked. "Don't you know they'd be good for your health?" Grandfather Mole turned his head toward the speaker. That was as near as he could come to staring at him, since he couldn't see him. Grandfather Mole did not like the Worm-eating Warbler's remarks in the least!
There is a good deal of mould and worm-eating and cobwebs about the old place. Yet both you and I think it more beautiful now than it was then. Well, I believe it is, as nearly as possible, the same with an old face. It has got stained, and weather-beaten, and worn; but if the organ of truth has been playing on inside the temple of the Lord, which St.
"He doesn't know how to get home." The Worm-eating Warbler asked why Grandfather Mole didn't dig a new hole for himself, if he had lost the one he used when he came up in the garden. And when he saw that Rusty Wren couldn't answer his question the Worm-eating Warbler said he had his doubts as to Rusty Wren's ideas about Grandfather Mole.
The Worm-eating Warbler, however, who was none too friendly towards Grandfather Mole, said that he had his doubts as to Grandfather Mole's blindness. "If he can find angleworms in the dark he certainly ought to be able to find his bearings in broad daylight," he sneered.
Draw a line three feet from the ground, and you mark the usual limit of the Kentucky warbler's quest for food. Six or eight feet higher bounds the usual range of such birds as the worm-eating warbler, the mourning ground warbler, the Maryland yellow-throat.
They kept well up among the branches, were rather slow in their movements, and evidently disposed to tarry but a short time. The summer residents here, belonging to this class of birds, are few. I have observed the black and white creeping warbler, the Kentucky warbler, the worm-eating warbler, the redstart, and the gnat-catcher, breeding near Rock Creek.
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