he could have done it had it
been necessary. Then with a final swoop and a volley of "clickers" he
dashed into the bush to receive the congratulations of the one for
whom it all was meant and the only spectator for whose opinion he
cared in the least.

[Illustration: "Clicker-a-clicker!' he shrieked ... and down like a
dart."]

"Now, ain't that great," said Sam, with evident sincerity and
pleasure. His voice startled Yan and brought him back. He had been
wholly lost in silent admiring wonder of the dauntless little
Kingbird.

A Vesper Sparrow ran along the road before them, flitting a few
feet ahead each time they overtook it and showing the white outer
tail-feathers as it flew.

"A little Graybird," remarked Sam.

"No, that isn't a Graybird; that's a Vesper Sparrow," exclaimed Yan,
in surprise, for he knew he was right.

"Well, _I_ dunno," said Sam, yielding the point.

"I thought you said you knew every bird that flies and all about it"
replied his companion, for the memory of this first day was strong
with him yet.

Sam snorted: "I didn't know you then. I was just loadin' you up so
you'd think I was a wonderful feller, an' you did, too--for awhile."

A Red-headed Woodpecker, carrying a yellow butterfly, flew on a fence
stake ahead of them and peeped around as they drew near. The setting
sun on his bright plumage, the lilac stake and the yellow butterfly,
completed a most gorgeous bit of colour and gave Yan a thrill of joy.
A Meadow Lark on a farther stake, a Bluebird on another, and a Vesper
Bird on a stone, each added his appeal to eye and ear, till Sam
exclaimed:

"Oh, ain't that awful nice?" and Yan was dumb with a sort of saddened
joy.

Birds hate the wind, and this was one of those birdy days that come
only with a dead calm.

They passed a barn with two hundred pairs of Swallows flying and
twittering around, a cut bank of the road had a colony of 1,000 Sand
Martins, a stream had its rattling Kingfishers, and a marsh was the
playground of a multitude of Red-winged Blackbirds.

Yan was lifted up with the joy of the naturalist at seeing so many
beautiful living things. Sam felt it, too; he grew very silent, and
the last half-mile to the "Corner" was passed without a word. The
boots were got. Sam swung them around his neck and the boys set out
for home. The sun was gone, but not the birds, and the spell of the
evening was on them still. A Song Sparrow by the brook and a Robin
high in the Elm were