“I reckon he stops at noon time,” said Bobbie, “as other birds do.”
“No, even then the silence of the woods is broken by the Red-eyed Vireo’s voice. He is such a busy little fellow, he can’t find time for a nap.”
“Hm!” remarked Bobbie; “the other birds must find him a tiresome fellow, I think.
“Has he any other names, mamma?”
“Yes, he is called the Red-eyed Greenlet or Red-eyed Fly-catcher. One gentleman calls him ‘The Preacher.’ To him the bird seems to say, ‘You see it; you know it; do you hear me? do you believe it?’”
“I’m going to look out for that red-eyed preacher next summer,” said Bobby, with a laugh.
“One lady who makes a study of birds thinks he says, ‘I know it! would you think it? musn’t touch it; you’ll rue it!’ He makes a pause, as you see, after each sentence.”
“Tell me something about their nests?” said Bobbie, deeply interested.
“They are made of bark fibers, cobwebs, bits of paper, and scraps of hornets’ nests, in the form of a little pocket. This is suspended from the fork of two or more twigs high up in the tree, making a sort of cradle for the little ones.”
“Rock-a-by, baby, on the tree top,
When the wind blows, the cradle will rock.”