later the twigs were alive with tiny warblers and creepers, flirting
from branch to branch, with larger, more circumspect chewinks,
catbirds, and finches hopping down from above, very silent, very
grave. In the depths of the thickets the shyer hermit and olive
thrushes and the oven birds revealed themselves ghost-like, or as
sea-growths lift into a half visibility through translucent shadows
the colour of themselves. All were very intent, very earnest, very
interested, each after his own manner, in the comradeship of the
featherhood he imagined to be uttering distressful cries. A few,
like the chickadees, quivered their wings, opened their little
mouths, fluttered down tiny but aggressive against the disaster.
Others hopped here and there restlessly, uttering plaintive, low-
toned cheeps. The shyest contented themselves by a discreet,
silent, and distant sympathy. Three or four freebooting Jays,
attracted not so much by the supposed calls for help as by
curiosity, fluttered among the tops of the trees, uttering their
harsh notes.

Finally, the girl ended her performance in a musical laugh.

"Run away, Brighteyes," she called. "It's all right; nobody's
damaged."

She waved her hand. As though at a signal, the host she had evoked
melted back into the shadows of the forest. Only the chickadee,
impudent as ever, retreated scolding rather ostentatiously, and the
jays, splendid in their ornate blue, screamed opinions at each other
from the tops of trees.

"How would you like to be a bird?" she inquired.