The Sage Thrasher

Length eight inches.

Upper parts gray, tinged with brown.

Under parts white shaded to buff, and spotted thickly on the breast with very dark brown, almost black.

Two white bands on each wing, and white spots on the end of the tail.

A Summer Citizen of the western United States.

A Ground Gleaner, Tree Trapper, and Seed Sower.  THE MOCKINGBIRD

“Mammy Bun knows about Mockingbirds,” said Dodo.  “She says the bushes were full of them down in Louisiana where she was born, and that sometimes they used to sit on the top of the cabins and sing so loud at night, when the moon shone, that the children couldn’t go to sleep, and they had to throw sticks and things at them.”

“Did the children throw sticks at the birds, or the birds pelt the children?” laughed the Doctor—­for poor Dodo was famous for mixing up her sentences.

“No, no, Uncle Roy, neither; the children’s mothers threw the sticks at the Mockers.”

“What else did Mammy Bun tell you?”

“Lots and lots of things, and a song, too, that her people used to sing about the Mockers, only I can’t tell it as she does because you know she has a sort of language all her own.”

“Suppose we ask mammy to come and tell us about the Mockingbirds herself,” said Olive, “May we, father?”

“Certainly, if you can coax her.”

The children followed Olive to the house and soon returned leading mammy, who was chuckling and out of breath, but evidently very much pleased to be asked.  She could not be persuaded to try the apple-tree perch, so they made her a sort of throne at the foot of the tree and sat respectfully in a row in front of her.  Mammy wore a dark-blue print dress with white figures on it, but as she was one of the good old sort, she had a plaid handkerchief tied turban fashion round her head.  As she talked she rolled her eyes and waved her hands a good deal, and her words had a soft comfortable sound like molasses pouring out of a big stone jug.

“Does I know de mockin’bird, I reck’n so—­’bout de fust t’ing I did know, ‘cept how ter suck sugar-cane.  Sugar-cane am good eatin’ long in de ‘arly fall, but de Mocker ain’t doin’ much singin’ dese yer times, least not ’less he’s in a cage in a good sunshiny place.  He am a kind ob a peart gray bird, darker in some places, lighter in oders, and clean as a parson.  But come ‘long spring and time for droppin’ de cottin seed, de Mocker he know mighty well what’s a-doin’.  ’Long in March he comes inter de bushes and orange scrub round de field a-makin’ a fuss and tellin’ folks to git along to work, or dere won’t be no cottin, and he keep it straight up all de day long till cottin’s out o’ bloom.  All de day long kind o’ chatterin’ and hurryin’ de niggers up when dere a-droppin’ de seed in de line, and scoldin’ and hurryin’ all de day long, when dere a-hoein’ down de