went to work providing for his family of three. But the chewink was
not to be sobered so quickly. Why not sing with the work? The days are
long enough, happy enough, for both. Even now he gives occasional
bursts of song. Evidently this is the theory of the tanager also, for
he sang all through July, and here in mid-August his trumpet tones
occasionally ring through the leafy silences of the woods. The young
wood pewees which left their nests on the eleventh are now able to
shift for themselves; but the parents have much the same song as they
had when the three eggs lay in the nest, saddled to the burr-oak
bough. Still, through the peaceful morning air comes the loud, clear,
cheery call of the Bob White--a note that has in it health and vigor
for the healing of many a tired heart. As for the cuckoo, well, his
mate is guarding those bluish-green eggs in the apology for a nest
built in the lower branches of a young black-oak; they will not be
hatched until the very last of the month. He does his best to be
cheerful and to make a joyful sound. "Kut-Kut-Kut," and
"Kow-Kow-Kow"--you may often hear the latter sound in the middle of
the night. Does he try to let his lady dear know that he is near her
through the darkness, or is he happily singing in his dreams?

Perched on a mullen spike, a goldfinch is singing to his mate, whose
nest is in a sapling not far away. His jet black wings fold over his
yellow back, shaping it into a pointed shield of gold. He is so happy
and so fond that he can not bear long to remain out of her sight. Now
he sings a tender serenade, then his joy rises to ecstasy. He takes
wings and floats up and down the imaginary waves, circling higher and
higher, his sweet notes growing more rapturous until finally they
reach their climax as he goes abruptly skyward. Then his fluttering
wings close, and he drops from a height of perhaps forty or fifty
feet, to alight again on his original perch and resume his tender