A Summer Citizen of the United States east of the plains.
A Ground Gleaner, Tree Trapper, and Seed Sower.
THE HERMIT THRUSH
"When we return to the house," said the Doctor, "I will show you the Veery and Hermit Thrush also; for whether or not you will hear the Hermit sing will depend very much upon what part of North America you live or travel in, and this bird's song is its chief claim to fame. Through all the southern and middle parts of the States he only pays visits during the fall, winter, and early spring. At these seasons he rarely sings, and spends his time in hopping about the underbrush, searching for insects. In spring and autumn you will see him about the magnolia trees in your yard or garden, or in the hedges along roads and the edges of light woods, where wild berries are plentiful. The name of Hermit would naturally make you expect to find a very shy bird, but he is not—only he likes his own company in secret places. When on his travels, unlike most birds, and like all good children in story books, he is oftener seen than heard. At this time you must look for him on or near the ground, for he is a famous Ground Gleaner.
"At first you may mistake him for a Wood Thrush. But look again—he is smaller; the spots on the breast are more joined together like stripes; the rump and tail are a very reddish-brown like ripe chestnuts, different from the greenish-brown on the back and head. You will be sure to notice this, for the Hermit jerks his tail about when he feeds on the ground, giving a little warning call that sounds like 'chek! chek!'"
"If you should happen to spend the summer among the mountains of New York, New England, or northern Michigan, and see the Hermit in his nesting home, you would find him quite another character, true to his name. There he is shy—or perhaps cautious would be a better word to describe the way in which he keeps the secrets of his precious nest. He loves the little moist valleys between the pine-clad mountains, where a bit of light woods is made an island by the soft bog-moss that surrounds it. There, feeling quite secure, he makes his nest upon the ground, of moss, leaves, pine-needles, and other such litter; and the eggs that it holds are very nearly the color of the Robin's, without any spots.
"He goes a little way from home, a bit up the mountain side, so that House People and squirrels, both of whom are sometimes cruel enough to steal eggs, may not know exactly where he lives; and then he begins to sing. His brother Thrushes have louder voices and know more brilliant songs; but when the Hermit reaches his high notes, that sound as clear as the music of a mountain brook, a strange feeling will suddenly come over you. You will forget that you belong to House People and that he is a bird; you will think he is telling you something in words that you understand—a message that makes you think about pure and holy things. The songs of some birds please the ear alone, but this little brown Hermit sings to your conscience. Some call him the Spirit of the Pines. If, however, you never hear his song you can remember that the Hermit is the brown bird with the rusty tail and speckled breast that hops among your bushes in spring and fall. You must be very kind to him, and tell your pet cat about him, warning her never to touch him."
The Hermit Thrush