ither pigweed, smartweed, burdock, nor
sorrel. Rather, picture in your mind a flower-bed, more rich and gay
than ever met your admiring eyes. Yellow daisies by thousands turning
their shining faces up to the sun; royal purple clusters of a blossoming
mint glowing in the brilliant light; larkspurs four feet high, thrusting
themselves above the rest like blue banners here and there; while lower
down peep out white, and blue, and lavender, and other modest posies,
and everywhere our familiar woods flower the wild geranium, whose office
it seems to be in Colorado to fill all vacancies, much larger and more
luxurious than ours, though quite as dainty and as impatient of
handling. Almost within reach of our hand we easily count a dozen
varieties of blossoms, while at the back of the little field are masses
of a tall plant gone to seed. This departed bloom must have resembled
our elder in shape and size, and now it makes a wonderful display of
seeds in all shades of green, yellow, and golden brown, according to the
various degrees of ripeness. It is very effective, almost more beautiful
than blossoms, certainly more harmonious.

Over all this growing glory butterflies flutter, and bees go hither and
thither, and still higher zigzag dozens of dragonflies. Behind us, a few
steps away, is the brook Minnelowan, whose musical murmur is in our
ears, but we will not turn around just yet. Truly it is good to be
here; to rest from the world of conventionality; to get into harmony
with nature; to steep our souls in the wildness, the freshness, and the
eternal youth of the growing world about us.

[Sidenote: _CURIOUS BABIES._]

But we are seeking birds; we must control our enthusiasm and listen. Now
we become aware of low, sharp, insect-like cries about us. They seem to
come from all sides at once; we find it impossible to locate them, till
a sudden chorus of loud and excited "smacks" directs our attention to
the tree over our heads, and our eyes fall upon a pair of frantic little
fellow-creatures in golden yellow, hopping about on the branches,
posturing and gesticulating with vehemence, and addressing their remarks
most pointedly to us.

We have doubtlessly invaded what they consider their domain. Those
insect-like chirps are the voices of their little folk, probably just
out of the nest, brand-new, ignorant, and curious babies, who know no
better than to stare at us, and make their comments within reach of our
hands. They are not