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So Robert Robin flew down where Mrs. Robin was sitting on her nest. Robert Robin perched on one of the big branches near Mrs. Robin, and then he sat perfectly still. Jeremiah Yellowbird was sitting on another branch, and he was sitting perfectly still.
The summer yellowbird, or yellow warbler, is not now a wood-bird at all, being found in orchards and parks, and along streams and in the trees of villages and cities. As we go north the number of warblers increases, till, in the northern part of New England, and in the Canadas, as many as ten or twelve varieties may be found breeding in June.
During the day I observed several pine finches, a dark brown or brindlish bird, allied to the common yellowbird, which it much resembles in its manner and habits. They lingered familiarly about the house, sometimes alighting in a small tree within a few feet of it. In one of the stumpy fields I saw an old favorite in the grass finch or vesper swallow.
There are no beechnuts, this year, the wild-pea crop is a failure, the farmer has no fields of grain near my woods, and I have not seen a groundnut for six seasons!" "Can't you find something to take the place of those things?" asked Mister Yellowbird. "If the country was what it used to be, I would not worry a bit. But every year it gets worse and worse! Why, last winter, Mrs.
So he sat on top of his old home stump and tried to think where he could find something to put in his granary bins. Jeremiah Yellowbird sat in a bush near by, and when he saw Mister Chipmunk keeping so still, he said to him: "What makes you so quiet to-day, Mister Chipmunk?" "I am worried about what I will have to eat next winter, Mister Yellowbird!
"Are you the monarch of the woods, Mister Chipmunk?" asked Jeremiah Yellowbird. "I would like to know who has a better right to be called the 'monarch of the woods," said Gabriel Chipmunk. "When I sit on my old home stump and say 'Chip! Chip!
X was a kind of X-cuse Of some-sort-o'-thing that got loose Before we could name it, And cage it, and tame it, And bring it in general use. Y is the Yellowbird, bright As a petrified lump of starlight, Or a handful of lightning Bugs, squeezed in the tight'ning Pink fist of a boy, at night. Z is the Zebra, of course!
Spangle!" song, and David Songsparrow was singing his seven morning songs, and even Jeremiah Yellowbird was doing his best to make his little voice ring through the woods as Robert Robin's mellow notes had sounded a moment before. But Robert Robin was not listening to the other birds, he was looking to see what he could see.
Neither Robert Robin nor Jeremiah Yellowbird could tell what had frightened the other birds and the squirrels, but both of them were looking and listening with all their might. A shadow fell from above, and Robert Robin cocked his head on one side and looking up, saw Mister Jim Crow flying high above the top of the big basswood tree.
He perched on one of the big branches of Robert Robin's tree and started hopping around looking for a bug for his breakfast, but when he saw Robert Robin and Jeremiah Yellowbird sitting so very still, he became quiet too, but his bright little eyes were looking first one way, and then another, and he was listening with all his might. Mrs.
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