upper D and C, above the soprano staff, and timed like two quarter
notes.

3. The faint chirpings as he works.

4. A happy little gurgling song, which can hardly be translated into
words.

The chickadee wears a black cap with a white vest and a blue-gray
coat, completing his costume with a black necktie, and he is perfectly
willing to sit for you and have his picture taken.

Mr. Blue Jay sat in a clump of dogwood, doing nothing. He was not so
tame as the others and yet he permitted a twenty-foot view of his
blue-gray coat, his aristocratic crest, his dusky white vest, his
white-tipped tail and the black band across the back of his head, down
the neck and across the breast--like a black collar worn very low
down. It was a spring-like morning, the thermometer rapidly rising
toward forty-five, and Mr. Blue Jay was in one of his imitative moods.
There is hardly a limit to his vocabulary, and it would not be
surprising if some of his imitative stunts should be mistaken for the
call of an early robin. Among these calls is a liquid gurgle, like
hard cider coming out of the neck of a big brown jug. Another, and a
common one, is two slurred eighth notes, repeated, "sol te, sol
te"--upper G and B in the key of C.

Meanwhile the woods had been resounding with the lively tattoo of the
woodpecker, and finally Downy was found at the top of a dead dry elm,
busily doing this reveille, fast and loud as the roll of a snare drum.
His head was going so fast that it looked like a quick series of heads