Charles E. Burchfield (1893-1967)

hatch, crawling swiftly and silently down the trunk of the tree, and on the underside of limbs.  Presently his mate followed, he ever keeping the same distance ahead.  They were a pleasant sight – these two little creatures crawling around on the tree, uttering odd little cries.  Finally one flew away to a tree further up the hollow, and the other followed.  Soon his weird cry came to me from up the valley, and I wondered how such a little bird could make such a loud sound.

Suddenly Buster became interested in something down near the stream and presently he ran down.  I got up and looked.  It was a bird almost as large as a robin, with a jet black head and orange breast, crawling along on the ground, frisking his tail excitedly.  It was a Ground Oriole!  I would have liked to have been near him and heard him rustle around in the leaves, for it is pleasant in the Spring days to hear one come down on a bank, scraping along in the leaves! As Buster came down he flew away to a little sapling, still wobbling his tail, on which showed two white feathers.  For a moment my attention was turned from him by the sweet little song of another bird – a strange one.  What kind was this?  I thought.  Presently he stopped and I looked for the oriole, but he was gone from the little