Charles E. Burchfield (1893-1967)

had been watching his young from a higher elevation and now came at me the utmost essence of rage and furiousness, which was really fine to see. Torn between rage and instinctive fear, he flew back and forth in the air, often coming within a couple feet of my head. The uproar he caused soon brought three other robins and four sparrows who perched on a wire overhead, apparently enjoying the sight. Meanwhile the cause of the rumpus had proceeded far up the street and was contentedly sitting on a grassy lawn, whither the parent bird flew.

     A short thundershower came about mid-morning. It lasted but a few minutes and when it cleared away, I knew the rain was not over. While writing my letter, I chanced to glance out of the window and beheld a sparrow feeding its young three in number which were rediculously large and as foolishly helpless. When the parent bird would come up with a tidbit, each end everyone would squat lower, and flutter his wings in an