In the morning, Jean, who had no glass to carry, put her sandwiches in an aluminum kettle, carefully wrapped “not to rattle and scare the birds away.” Water could be found at springs familiar to all of them. Cream went farther than milk and was not so heavy. One bottle was tucked in the pocket of Phoebe’s oldest coat and Nan put another in hers. Pockets bulged and Bess swung from her arm a box of marshmallows, these for toasting.
Miss Haynes smiled broadly when the seven girls made their appearance at the door of her boarding house, just as she was starting out. “Good for you,” she cried, “all with sensible wraps on. I fancy, from the looks of your pockets, that we shall not go hungry.”
Familiar as the girls thought they were with the country about their town, Miss Haynes, a comparative stranger, could show many new things; for some conveyance had usually taken them to the big lake, and to the smaller ones sometimes, for their beach parties, and many very interesting bypaths were unknown to the girls.
How wet it was. Water came up around their overshoes as they walked over the soft turf by the muddy road. Snow lay in the fence corners. But the sky was blue and the birds were already singing, some meadow larks in a field and a flock of red-winged blackbirds in a swampy place not far out of town. Miss Haynes called attention to a song sparrow in a little leafless tree, where twigs and bird were etched against the sky. For the first time the Stealthy Prowlers deserved their new name, as they crept near enough to get a good look at the brown splashes on the sparrow’s breast, with the “breast-pin” where they coalesce. And while they watched, the little finch bill opened and the bubbling, merry song rang out.
Miss Haynes, pleased with their interest, watched the girls more than the sparrow. “When you learn to know voices and songs,” said she, “you will not have to see some of them to find out what they are.”
“I never thought of learning the voices of birds,” exclaimed Phoebe, who was musically inclined. “Has it been here all winter, or has it just come?”
“It may have been here all winter, not singing much.”
The sparrow had flown away before they began to discuss it, but Miss Haynes directed them toward some willows by the brook, which they were approaching. “I see a little flock of birds about those willows,” said she. “Come quietly, and tell me what you see, after you have had a good look. I will pass the glass around.”
This time they stood at some little distance and looked through Leigh’s glass, Molly’s opera glass and Miss Haynes’ stronger glass. One little fellow settled in the top of a bush, giving the girls a fine view of his breast. No, it wasn’t another song sparrow.
Another little chap turned his back upon them; but just as the other bird flew, this one shifted his position, and they saw that his breast was like that of the other. Then some movement in the bushes startled the flock. With a soft whirring of wings, together they all flew away and Miss Haynes turned smiling to ask, “What did you see, girls? How many had a good look?” she added, in teacher fashion. “You scarcely know, I suppose, how lucky you are to start your bird study so early, before the foliage gets in your way and before some of the winter visitants leave us. I’m much mistaken if the tree sparrows will stay at this latitude, or fox sparrows, either.”