[Ill.u.s.tration: Phoebe.]

"Sometimes Phoebes build under a bridge, or in a rocky pocket above a stream; for they love water and are great bathers. Then they make the outside of the nest to match the rock by covering it with lichens.

"The Phoebe, like all other Flycatchers, sits motionless upon a dead twig, fence rail, or often the clothesline, waiting for insects to come by. Then he darts out, seizes one, and returns to the same perch, flipping the tail, raising the little crest, and calling 'Phoebe--p-h-o-e-b-e,' in a very anxious voice.

"Phoebe is a hardy Flycatcher, who journeys north in March to tell us spring is coming, and it takes a hard frost to send him away again.

Even then he does not hurry off toward the tropics like the ardent Kingbird, but lingers all winter in the Southern States."

The Phoebe

Length seven inches. Wings hardly any longer than the tail.

Upper parts deep olive-brown, darkest on the head; bill and feet black.

Under parts dull white, with a grayish or yellowish tinge.

A Citizen of North America east of the plains and north to Canada, nesting from South Carolina northward, and wintering in the Southern States.

A useful and pleasant neighbor, who likes our society, often nesting in sheds and under porches.

A member of the guild of Sky Sweepers, who also works with the Tree Trappers.

THE WOOD PEWEE

"Among all the other Flycatchers, big, little, and least, I can only tell you of one more, and will choose the Wood Pewee as being the one most likely to interest you.

"This morning in the wood lane I saw a pair that were surely nest-building, and I wondered if they were not the great-great- grandchildren of those who lived there when I was a boy. The Pewee's nest is very pretty--almost as dainty as the Hummingbird's. I will try to find it for you as we go back this afternoon."

"Then the Wood Pewee builds late, like the Cedar Waxwing and Goldfinch?"

said Rap. "Yes, rather late; about the first or second week in June. He is a lazy traveller; and then, perhaps, he thinks his nest is so frail that he needs to have the trees in full leaf to protect it. The Wood Pewee takes his name from his liking for the woods and his call-note; yet he is quite as fond of our Orchard and the lower side of the garden.

"When you have once met him face to face and heard his sad cry--'pewee--pewee--pee-eer--weer!'--you will probably find half a dozen pairs about home.

[Ill.u.s.tration: Wood Pewee.]

"It is usual to call the notes of this bird sad; but it only seems so from our point of view; for he is a happy, fussy little bird, and I dare say that when he calls he is only saying 'peek-a-boo!' to his mate on the other side of the tree."

"Wouldn't it be nice if we knew all that the animals and birds do, and could see what they see, besides being ourselves?" said Nat.

"I think we should be too wise and proud," said Rap. "No, my lads,"

said the Doctor, "we should probably be more humble than we are now, and realize how very little House People really know about the wonderful lives of those creatures we commonly call 'dumb animals.'"

"You haven't given us any table for the Wood Pewee," said Dodo, who always took great pleasure in writing in her little book. "I like to hear it, though I can't write it now."

The Wood Pewee

Length six and a half inches. Wings much longer than the tail, and feet very small.

Upper parts dark brown with an olive shade, and light bars on the wings; top of the head not darker than the back, and under side of the beak not black.

Under parts yellowish-white with a tinge of dark gray along the sides and across the breast.

Looks very much like the Phoebe, but you can tell them apart if you attend carefully to the tables.

A Citizen of North America from Florida to Canada and west to the plains. Travels beyond the United States for the winter.

A good Citizen and shy neighbor. A member of the guild of Sky Sweepers.

CHAPTER XXI

HUMMERS AND CHIMNEY SWEEPS

THE RUBY-THROATED HUMMINGBIRD

[Ill.u.s.tration: Ruby-Throated Hummingbird.]

"It won't be dark for a long time yet," said Dodo, after they had driven silently for a couple of miles, watching the clouds against the tree-tops and the Swallows that were out in full force, sky-sweeping for their evening meal.

"Are you growing sleepy?" asked Olive.

"No, only _terribly hungry_" whispered Dodo, as if rather ashamed of the fact; "and do you know, Olive, after dinner to-day I told Olaf I never should be hungry again, because I ate so much chowder. After we had driven awhile I thought to myself, 'I shan't want supper to-night anyway.' Then pretty soon I thought, 'I _shall_ want supper,' and now I want it _right away_!" The Doctor laughed and looked at the cows that were pasturing in the roadside fields, for they were pa.s.sing a farming village.

"I don't see any Cowbirds this afternoon," said Nat, thinking the Doctor was looking for them.

"This time I am looking at the cows themselves! Those over there are beautiful creatures, and there is a clear spring of water in the corner of the pasture. When we come to the farmhouse where they belong, we will stop to buy some milk, and Miss Dodo shall have supper; for even Mammy's buns, when they have been travelling about all day in a basket, would, be rather dry without milk."

"But wouldn't the milk be good if the cows were not pretty, and there was no spring in the pasture?" asked Nat, who must have a reason for everything.

"It is not a question of pretty cows; it is whether they are clean and healthy or not, that makes the milk good or bad. And good pure water to drink, from a spring that is not near any barnyard or outbuilding, is one of the best things for keeping cows in good health."

Meanwhile they had driven up to a farmhouse, almost as large as their own, and the mistress, who was arranging her pans for the evening milking, said they might have cold milk then, or fresh warm milk if they would wait a little while until the cows came home.

Under the back porch was a cage with a little Owl in it, and the woman said it belonged to her boy. Joe, for that was his name, was about Rap's age, and soon made friends with them. They told him where they had been spending the day, and about their uncle's wonder room, and the birds at Orchard Farm. "Have you got a Hummingbird's nest on your farm, and a Swallow chimney?" Joe asked anxiously.

"No, not exactly," said Nat, hesitating. "There are some birds in Uncle Roy's chimney, but we haven't found a Hummingbird's nest yet, though there are lots of the birds about the garden."

"Well, there's a Hummingbird's nest in our crab-apple tree, and we own the biggest Swallow chimney there is in the county! Pa says so, and he knows," said Joe proudly. "If you'll come with me and not grab the nest, I'll show it to you. It's a widow Hummingbird, too. I've never seen her mate since she began to set, but before that he was always flyin' round the honeysuckles and laylocks, so I'm sure he is dead."

"May I come too?" asked the Doctor.

"Pleased to have you, sir," said Joe, making a stiff little bow. "I'd have asked you, only most men folks don't set much store by birds 'nless they are the kind they go gunnin' for. Only pa does. He likes any kind o' bird, whether it sings or not, and he's powerful fond of the Swallows in our chimney. He says they eat the flies and things that tease the cows down in the pasture, and since those Swallows came to our chimney we haven't had to put fly-sheets on the oxen when they are in the pasture--not once."