[Ill.u.s.tration: Wild geranium.]

"I have a flower that you haven't, Susie," said Mrs. Leonard, holding it up for them to see.

"Oh," cried Susie, "a yellow lady's slipper! I didn't know they were out yet. Where did you find it?"

"I picked it on the bank near the creek while you were talking about the trees," replied her mother.

"I wish I could find a pink one," said Susie, looking around.

"Isn't it too early for them?" asked Uncle Robert.

"They come about the same time as the yellow ones," said Donald, "but we don't find very many of them."

"I like the Indian name for that flower," said Mr. Leonard.

"Do you mean moccasin flower, father?" asked Frank. "I like that too."

[Ill.u.s.tration: Yellow lady's slipper.]

"Why don't we call it that?" asked Donald.

"Lady's slipper is easier to remember," said Susie.

"Here are some bluebells, Susie," said Frank, holding up a handful of the dainty, graceful blossoms. "Give some to mother, and you may have the rest."

"How many blue flowers we have!" said Susie. "There aren't any red ones excepting the red trillium, and that's so dark it isn't really red."

"It's more purple than red," said Donald.

"This isn't the time of the year for red flowers," said Mrs. Leonard.

"They come later in the summer and in the fall."

"I wonder why there are no red ones in the spring," said Susie.

"I saw painted cups along the edge of the timothy meadow yesterday,"

said Donald.

[Ill.u.s.tration: Moccasin flower.]

"Oh, did you, Don? Were they truly red, or just yellow?"

"No, they were in bloom. They were red."

"Let's go home that way," said Susie, "and get some."

"I wish all the people in New York could know how restful these woods are," said Uncle Robert, breathing a long breath of the sweet, pure air.

"It always seems to me more quiet in the woods on Sunday than on any other day," said Mrs. Leonard.

"Do the birds know when it is Sunday?" asked Susie.

"If they do," said Uncle Robert, "those blue jays must have forgotten."

"Just hear how they scream!" said Frank.

"They must be up to their usual trick," said Mr. Leonard, "of tormenting some other bird."

"Listen!" said Donald. "It's a sparrow hawk they're after. That's the sparrow hawk's cry, but it's a blue jay that made it. They always mimic them when they chase them. I've watched them lots of times."

[Ill.u.s.tration: Blue jay.]

"I wish we could see them now!" said Frank. "The hawk will turn on them soon. Then they'll change their tune."

"They are having a good time shouting and screaming to each other," said Susie. "What a horrid noise they make!"

"They scare away the other birds," said Donald.

"How many birds do you know?" asked Uncle Robert.

[Ill.u.s.tration: Robin.]

"I know all the birds that come around the house and the barn," said Donald. "There are the robins, sparrows, pewees, wrens, swallows, and martins. Then there are the birds in the fields--the larks and the crows. The names of some of the little birds in the woods I do not know."

"You have left out the woodp.e.c.k.e.rs," said Frank, "and the thrushes and catbirds."

"And the cherry birds, that look like canaries," said Susie.

"Get up early in the morning, just as the sun is rising, and you will hear a chorus," said Mrs. Leonard. "It is a regular morning praise meeting."

[Ill.u.s.tration: Woodp.e.c.k.e.r.] "The oriole, or golden robin, is the handsomest bird of all," said Donald.

"A great many birds come in the spring which stay only a few days," said Frank.

"Where do they come from, and where do they go?" asked Uncle Robert.

"They come from the south, I suppose, where it is warmer. I wonder how they know when it is time to start," said Frank.

"And which way to go," added Donald.

"And how they decide where to stop and build their nests," said Mrs.

Leonard.

[Ill.u.s.tration: Oriole.]

"Very interesting questions, but no one has answered them yet," said Uncle Robert. "Migrating birds are all found in the south in winter, and we see them in the spring."

"What do you mean by mi-grat-ing birds?" asked Susie.