So persistent was he in patrolling Leafy Lawn, jumping from tree to tree and from branch to branch, reporting his presence, and in case of danger threatening, squawking so loudly and repeatedly, that it was agreed, as he already had a blue uniform, that he should be the policeman for this precinct. There came a day early in the season when Mr. Woodpecker, Robin Redbreast and Mr. Blue Jay all assembled within speaking distance on the lower branches of a silver maple tree and excitedly discussed the arrival of a number of birds which they had heard early that morning but had been unable to find. “My wife,” said Robin, “awakened me from the twig near her nest, where I usually sleep and keep guard, and she said that one of our kin had arrived for she had heard a voice exactly like mine from the plum tree. Hoping it was one of my brothers I searched eagerly until sunrise, and though I heard him twice I could not find him.” Mr. Blue Jay was more excited than before and turned about, twitched his tail violently, scolded and sputtered that he had had just such an experience and he believed the sparrows had added witchcraft to their other sins and were trying to hoodoo the birds of Leafy Lawn. A frightened sparrow overheard this accusation and came near enough to protest that they were not guilty and had been themselves trying in vain to find their newly-arrived English relatives, whom they had believed they heard that morning. Mr. Woodpecker said it might be no personal affair of his as he had heard no drumming nor mocking of his song, but if Leafy Lawn were to be occupied by kildares, bobolinks, meadow larks and blackbirds he thought there would be scarce picking of worms, bugs or seeds for the old settlers who were the rightful possessors of these premises and it was a serious condition of things. In closing his pompous speech he shook his scarlet bonnet furiously, smoothed his waistcoat and jumped upon a higher limp and called off his “chit-it-it-it-it-it” so shrill and high that his companions were for the moment alarmed lest he should split his throat. But he stopped as suddenly as he had begun, and upon the silence that followed the birds heard, as surely as they saw the blossoms on the apple trees, the song of the thrush. “It is undoubtedly a hobgoblin,” hoarsely whispered Mr. Woodpecker, “for Mr. Blue Jay swore to me this morning that during the seasons he and his ancestors have patrolled this lawn never have they seen a thrush even alight here.” It was decided that the three birds make one more immediate and thorough search for the monster hobgoblin which infested the Lawn.