Charles E. Burchfield (1893-1967)

have just hatched, and we can quite easily watch their developments. The parent-birds seemed to do little else but feed them, and sitting here in the arbor, I can easily watch all that goes on. I cannot suppress a laugh, when, as the old bird alights on the spout with a worm, each and every nestling (there are three) shoots his head as far in the air as he can, with mouths (their heads are all mouths) wide open. Their necks are so gaunt & skinny that we wonder the heads, being so large do not drop off.(HT)A wren has come to my wren-box in the arbor! Evidently he has just discovered the place for he spent an hour this morning flying in and out of it, singing madly the while. Torrent after torrent of music issued from his throat in such close succession that they almost seemed to overlap. Presently he began to gather sticks and bring them to the box, and I watched him fascinated. Not one whit did he lessen his singing; it was a wonder he could accomplish anything for his singing. Often