had been discovered
anyway, and there was no need of pretending that no lazulis dwelt in the
neighborhood. How elegant the little husband looked in his variegated
attire! The wife was soberly clad in warm brown, slightly streaked with
dusk, but she was trig and pretty and worthy of her more richly
apparelled spouse. In the bushes below I found a well-made nest, which I
felt morally certain belonged to the little couple that was keeping such
faithful surveillance over it. As yet it contained no eggs.

In order to make certainty doubly sure, I visited the place a week or so
later, and found that my previous conclusion had been correct. I flushed
the little madame from the nest, and saw her flit with a chirp to the
twigs above, where she sat quietly watching her visitor, exhibiting no
uneasiness whatever about her cot in the bushes with its three precious
eggs. It was pleasing to note the calmness and dignity with which she
regarded me. But where was that important personage, the little husband?
He was nowhere to be seen, although I lingered about the charmed spot
for over two hours, hoping to get at least a glimpse of him. A friend,
who understands the sly ways of the lazulis, suggested that very likely
the male was watching me narrowly all the while from a safe hiding-place
in the dense foliage of some tree not far away.

My friend told me that I would not be able to distinguish the song of
the lazuli from those of the summer and mountain warblers. We shall see
whether he was right. One evening I was searching for a couple of blue
grosbeaks at the border of Colorado Springs, where I had previously seen
them, when a loud, somewhat percussive song, much like the summer
warbler's, burst on my ear, coming from a clump of willow bushes hard by
the stream. At once I said to myself, "That is not the summer warbler's
trill. It resembles the challenging song of the indigo-bird, only it is
not quite so loud and defiant. A lazuli finch's song, or I am sadly
astray! Let me settle the question now."

I did settle it to my great satisfaction, for, after no little effort, I
succeeded in obtaining a plain view of the elusive little lyrist, and,
sure enough, it proved to be the lazuli finch. Metaphorically I patted
myself with a great deal of self-complacency, as I muttered: "The idea
of Mr. Aiken's thinking I had so little discrimination! I know that
hereafter I shall be able to detect the lazuli's peculiar intonations
every time." S