"
When they reached the brook they stopped to show the fish pools and then
entered an old orchard, long abandoned for fruit growing and so worm
infested as to make it a bird Paradise. Cuckoos, jays, robins, bluebirds,
thrashers, orioles, sparrows, and vireos, nested there, singing on wing,
among the trees, on the fences, and from bushes in the corners.
Malcolm and Mr. Dovesky secreted themselves on a board laid across the
rails of an alder-filled fence corner, then the boy began pointing out the
birds he knew and giving his repetition of their calls, cries, bits of
song, sometimes whistled, sometimes half spoken, half whistled, any vocal
rendition that would produce the bird tones. He had practised carefully,
he was slightly excited, and sooner than usual he received replies. Little
feathered folk came peeping, peering, calling, and beyond question
answering Malcolm's notes. In an hour Mr. Dovesky was holding his breath
with interest, suggesting corrections, trying notes himself, and when he
felt he had whistled accurately and heard a bird reply, he was as proud as
the boy.
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