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There the squirrel scolds and chatters as he runs along the rail, And you hear the rain-crow calling, and the whistle of the quail; And the catbird, and the blue jay, scold with vigor most intense, As they build among the branches by the stake-and-rider fence.
I knowed he wuz a callin' Nimbus an' dat Nimbus 'ud know it, tu, jest ez soon ez he heerd it; but yer know ennybody dat hadn't heerd it over an offen, wouldn't nebber tink dat it warn't a mocker waked up by de light, or jes mockin' a cat-bird an' rain-crow, an' de like, in his dreams, ez dey say dey does when de moon shines, yer know."
There is one bird I seldom hear till June, and that is the cuckoo. Sometimes the last days of May bring him, but oftener it is June before I hear his note. The cuckoo is the true recluse among our birds. I doubt if there is any joy in his soul. "Rain-crow," he is called in some parts of the country. His call is supposed to bode rain.
Hence the name of rain-crow that is applied to him in some parts of the country. I am more than half inclined to believe that his call does indicate rain, as it is certain that of the tree-toad does. The cuckoo has a slender, long-drawn-out appearance on account of the great length of tail.
But poverty of soil need not imply poverty of soul. And a noble manhood may nobly exist "'Way Down in Poor Valley." "Ef the filly war bridle-wise" "The filly air bridle-wise." A sullen pause ensued, and the two brothers looked angrily at each other. The woods were still; the sunshine was faint and flickering; the low, guttural notes of a rain-crow broke suddenly on the silence.
Comin' up, too comin' right along. Say, do you reckon that rain-crow feller brought that cloud up from somewheres?" "He didn't have anything to do with it," Morgan assured him, grinning a little over the quick shift in the old man's attitude, for there was awe in his voice. "No, I don't reckon," said Joe thoughtfully, "but it looks kind of suspicious."
Rain-crow don't sing no chune, but you k'n 'pen' on 'im. One-eyed mule can't be handled on de bline side. Moon may shine, but a lightered knot's mighty handy. Licker talks mighty loud w'en it git loose fum de jug. De proudness un a man don't count w'en his head's cold. Hongry rooster don't cackle w'en he fine a wum.
The sedge warbler sang in the thick reeds a mocking ventriloquial lay, which reminded me at times of the less pronounced parts of our yellow-breasted chat's song. The cuckoo's cry was singularly attractive and musical, far more so than the rolling, many times repeated, note of our rain-crow.
Crows string over the woods close to the tops of the trees, watching with piercing eyes for lone and hapless fledglings. A cuckoo droops from a tall wild cherry tree on one side of the road to a tangle of wild grape on the other; he peers out and gives his rain-crow call. So is the warp of the summer woven of bird-flight and threaded through with song.
"I think we're goin' ter ha' some fallin' weather in er day er two; sky looks ruther hazy, 'n' I heerd er rain-crow ter-day, 'n' ther's er circle roun' th' moon," observed Father Tyler as he entered, and hanging his hat on a convenient nail in a post, seated himself in the corner opposite his mother. "Ha' ye got th' fodder all in?" queried his wife, with much interest.
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