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diff --git a/40919-8.txt b/40919-8.txt deleted file mode 100644 index c990b63..0000000 --- a/40919-8.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,6724 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg EBook of Everyday Adventures, by Samuel Scoville - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with -almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or -re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included -with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org - - -Title: Everyday Adventures - -Author: Samuel Scoville - -Release Date: October 2, 2012 [EBook #40919] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK EVERYDAY ADVENTURES *** - - - - -Produced by sp1nd, Matthew Wheaton and the Online -Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This -file was produced from images generously made available -by The Internet Archive) - - - - - - - - EVERYDAY ADVENTURES - - [Illustration: TWO ADVENTURERS--GRAY FOX AND SCREECH OWL] - - - - - EVERYDAY ADVENTURES - - By SAMUEL SCOVILLE, JR. - - - _With Illustrations from Photographs_ - - - _The_ ATLANTIC MONTHLY PRESS BOSTON - - - _Copyright 1920, by_ - _Samuel Scoville, Jr._ - - - Of the chapters of this book, three have appeared as separate - articles in _The Atlantic Monthly_, three in _The Yale Review_, - two in _The Youth's Companion_, and the others, in whole or in - part, in _St. Nicholas_, _Good Housekeeping_, and _The Christian - Endeavor World_. - - - _This book is dedicated to that brave and loyal adventurer, who - has shared so many everyday adventures with me--my wife._ - - - The illustrations for this book have been made from photographs - taken by Mr. Howard T. Middleton, Mr. J. Fletcher Street, Mr. - William L. Baily, and Mr. A. D. McGrew. The author wishes to - express his appreciation here of the skill, knowledge, and - patience which have made such photographs possible. In some of - those taken by Mr. Middleton, tamed, caged, or mounted specimens - have been used as models. In others he has persuaded wild - animals to photograph themselves by various ingenious devices. - - - - - CONTENTS - - - EVERYDAY ADVENTURES 1 - ZERO BIRDS 18 - SNOW STORIES 38 - A RUNAWAY DAY 59 - THE RAVEN'S NEST 73 - HIDDEN TREASURE 86 - BIRD'S-NESTING 100 - THE TREASURE HUNT 120 - ORCHID HUNTING 139 - THE MARSH DWELLERS 161 - THE SEVEN SLEEPERS 176 - DRAGON'S BLOOD 216 - - - - - LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS - - - _Two Adventurers--Gray Fox and Screech Owl_ Frontispiece - _Br'er Fox and Br'er Possum_ 4 - _The Singer of the Night--The Screech Owl_ 16 - _A Crow Chorus_ 25 - _Just Out of the Nest--Young Red Squirrels_ 28 - _The Dear Deer Mice_ 35 - _Death-in-the-Dark--The Great Horned Owl_ 44 - _Flyer, the Squirrel_ 52 - _The Long-tailed Weasel_ 64 - "_The Young Ravens shall neither lack nor suffer Hunger_" 82 - _The Jewel-Box of the Wood Pewee_ 96 - _The Red-Shouldered Hawk_ 104 - _Mrs. Killdeer at Her Nest_ 108 - _Mr. Flicker at Home_ 126 - _The Mourning Dove in Her Nest_ 128 - _Pink and White Lady Slippers_ 146 - _The King of the Forest--The Banded Rattlesnake_ 154 - _The Great Blue Heron at Breakfast_ 160 - _The Marsh Hawk's Nest_ 164 - _Lotor, the Coon_ 184 - _The Seventh Sleeper--The Skunk_ 192 - _The Whistlepig_ 196 - _The Junco on His Watch Tower_ 219 - _No Admittance--per order, Mr. Screech Owl_ 222 - - -EVERYDAY ADVENTURES - - _For the sick and the sorry and the weary at heart stands a - refuge at their very doors. There needs but sight to the - unseeing eyes and the unstopping of deafened ears, and the way - to the World where the sweet Wild-Folk dwell lies open. Therein - is happiness that time cannot tarnish, the stilling of sorrow - and rest from toil. Let him who hears the call heed it as he - values his soul's welfare._ - - - - -EVERYDAY ADVENTURES - - - - -I - -EVERYDAY ADVENTURES - - -All that May day long I had been trying to break my record of birds -seen and heard between dawn and dark. Toward the end of the gray -afternoon an accommodating Canadian warbler, wearing a black necklace -across his yellow breast, carried me past my last year's mark, and I -started for home in great contentment. My path wound in and out among -the bare white boles of a beech wood all feathery with new -green-sanguine-colored leaves. Always as I enter that wood I have a -sense of a sudden silence, and I walk softly, that I may catch perhaps -a last word or so of what They are saying. - -That day, as I moved without a sound among the trees, suddenly, not -fifty feet away, loping wearily down the opposite slope, came a gaunt -red fox and a cub. With her head down, she looked like the picture of -the wolf in Red Riding-Hood. The little cub was all woolly, like a -lamb. His back was reddish-brown, and he had long stripes of gray -across his breast and around his small belly, and his little sly face -was so comical that I laughed at the very first sight of it. What wind -there was blew from them to me, and my khaki clothes blended with the -coloring around me. - -As I watched them, another larger cub trotted down the hill. The first -cub suddenly yapped at him, with a snarling little bark quite -different from that of a dog; but the other paid no attention, but -stalked sullenly into a burrow which for the first time I noticed -among the roots of a white-oak tree. Back of the burrow lay a large -chestnut log which evidently served as a watch-tower for the fox -family. To this the mother fox went, and climbing up on top of it, lay -down, with her head on her paws and her magnificent brush dangling -down beside the log, and went to sleep. - -The little cub that was left trotted to the entrance of the burrow and -for a while played by himself, like a puppy or a kitten. First he -snapped at some blades of grass and chewed them up fiercely. Then, -seeing a leaf that had stuck in the wool on his back, he whirled -around and around, snapping at it with his little jaws. Failing to -catch it, he rolled over and over in the dirt until he had brushed it -off. Then he proceeded to stalk the battered carcass of an old black -crow that lay in front of the burrow. Crouching and creeping up on it -inch by inch, he suddenly sprang and caught that unsuspecting corpse -and worried it ferociously, with fierce little snarls. All the time -his wrinkled-up, funny little face was so comical that I nearly -laughed aloud every time he moved. At last he curled up in a round -ball, with his chin on his forepaws like his mother. - -There before me, at the end of the quiet spring afternoon, two of the -wildest and shyest of all of our native animals lay asleep. Never -before had I seen a fox in all that country, nor even suspected that -one had a home within a scant mile of mine. As I watched them -sleeping, I felt somehow that the wildwood had taken me into her -confidence and was trusting her children to my care; and I would no -more have harmed them, than I would my own. - -As I watched the cub curled up in a woolly ball, I wanted to creep up -and stroke his soft fur. Leaving the hard path, I started to cover as -silently as possible the fifty feet that lay between us. Before I had -gone far, a leaf rustled underfoot, and in a second the cub was on his -feet, wide awake, and staring down at me. With one foot in the air, I -waited and waited until he settled down to sleep again. A minute later -the same thing happened once more, only to be repeated at every step -or so. It took me something like half an hour to reach a point within -twenty feet of where he lay, and I looked straight into his eyes each -time that he stood up. - -No wild animal can tell a man from a tree by sight alone if only he -stands still. Suddenly, as the cub sprang up, perhaps for the tenth -time, there about six feet to one side of him stood the old mother -fox. I had not heard a sound or seen a movement, but there she was. I -was so close that I dared not move my head to look at the cub, but -turned only my eyes. When I looked back the mother fox was gone. With -no sudden movement that I could detect, there almost before my eyes -she had melted into the landscape. - -I stood like a stone until the cub had lain down once more. This time -evidently he was watching me out of his wrinkled-up little eyes, for -at my very first forward movement he got up, and with no appearance of -haste turned around and disappeared down in the burrow. The -watch-tower log was vacant, although I have no doubt that the mother -fox was watching me from some unseen spot. - -When I came to examine the den, I found that there were three burrows -in a line, perhaps fifteen feet in length, with a hard-worn path -leading from one to the other. The watch-log behind them was rubbed -smooth and shiny, with reddish fox-hairs caught in every crevice. Near -the three burrows was a tiny one, which I think was probably dug as an -air-hole; while in front I found the feathers of a flicker, a purple -grackle, and a chicken, besides the remains of the crow aforesaid. How -any fox outside of the fable could beguile a crow is a puzzle to me. -All of these burrows were in plain sight, and I hunted a long time to -find the concealed one which is a part of the home of every -well-regulated fox family. For a while I could find no trace of it. -Finally I saw on the side of a stump one reddish hair that gave me a -clue. Examining the stump carefully, I found that it was hollow and -formed the entrance to the secret exit from the three main burrows. - -A week later I went again to look at the home of that fox family; but -it was deserted by them and was now tenanted by a fat woodchuck, -who would never have ventured near the den if the owners had not left -it. Mrs. Fox had evidently feared the worst from my visit, and in the -night had moved her whole family to some better-hidden home. This was -three years ago, and, although I visit the place every winter, no -tell-tale tracks ever show that she has moved back. - -[Illustration: BR'ER FOX AND BR'ER POSSUM] - -It is not necessary to go to the forest for adventures: they lie in -wait for us at our very doors. My home is in a built-up suburb of a -large city, apparently hopelessly civilized. The other morning I was -out early for some before-breakfast chopping, the best of all -setting-up exercises. As I turned the corner of the garage, I suddenly -came face to face with a black-and-white animal with a pointed nose, a -bushy tail, and an air of justified confidence. I realized that I was -on the brink of a meeting which demanded courage but not rashness. "Be -brave, be brave, but not _too_ brave," should always be the motto of -the man who meets the skunk. From my past experience, however, I knew -that the skunk is a good sportsman. Unless rushed, he always gives -three warnings before he proceeds to extremities. - -As I came near, he stopped and shook his head sadly, as if saying to -himself, "I'm afraid there's going to be trouble, but it isn't my -fault." As I still came on, he gave me danger signal number one by -suddenly stamping his forepaws rapidly on the hard ground. Upon my -further approach followed signal number two, to wit, the hoisting -aloft of his aforesaid long, bushy tail. As I came on more and more -slowly, I received the third and last warning--the end of the erect -tail moved quietly back and forth a few times. - -It was enough. I stood stony still, for I knew that if, after that, I -moved forward but by the fraction of an inch, I would meet an unerring -barrage which would send a suit of clothes to an untimely grave. For -perhaps half a minute we eyed each other. Like the man in the story, I -made up my mind that one of us would have to run--and that I was that -one. Without any false pride I backed slowly and cautiously out of -range. Thereupon the threatening tail descended, and Mr. Skunk trotted -away through a gap in the fence into the long grass of an unoccupied -lot--probably seeking a breakfast of field-mice. - -I felt a definite sense of relief, for it is usually more dangerous to -meet a skunk than a bear. In fact, all the bears that I have ever come -upon were disappearing with great rapidity across the landscape. - -But there are times when a meeting with either Mr. or Mrs. Bruin is -apt to be an unhappy one. Several years ago I was camping out in Maine -one March, in a lumberman's shack. A few days before I came, two boys -in a village near by decided to go into the woods hunting, with a -muzzle-loading shot-gun and a long stick between them. One boy was ten -years old, while the other was a patriarch of twelve. On a hillside -under a great bush they noticed a small hole which seemed to have -melted through the snow, and which had a gamy savor that made them -suspect a coon. The boy with the stick poked it in as far as possible -until he felt something soft. - -"I think there's something here," he remarked, poking with all his -might. - -He was quite right. The next moment the whole bank of frozen snow -suddenly caved out, and there stood a cross and hungry bear, prodded -out of his winter sleep by that stick. The boys were up against a bad -proposition. The snow was too deep for running, and when it came to -climbing--that was Mr. Bear's pet specialty. So they did the only -thing left for them to do: they waited. The little one with the stick -got behind the big one with the gun, which weapon wavered unsteadily. - -"Now, don't you miss," he said, "'cause this stick ain't very sharp." - -Sometimes an attacking bear will run at a man like a biting dog. More -often it rises on its haunches and depends on the smashing blows of -its mighty arms and steel-shod paws. So it happened in this case. Just -before the bear reached the boys, he lifted his head and started to -rise. The first boy, not six feet away, aimed at the white spot which -most black bears have under their chin, and pulled the trigger. At -that close range the heavy charge of number six shot crashed through -the animal's throat, making a single round hole like a big bullet, -cutting the jugular vein, and piercing the neck vertebrę beyond. The -great beast fell forward with hardly a struggle, so close to the boys -that its blood splashed on their rubber boots. They got ten dollars -for the skin and ten dollars for the bounty, and about one million -dollars' worth of glory. - - * * * * * - -Hasting homeward for more peaceful adventures, I find, near the road -which leads to the railway station over which scores and hundreds of -my friends and neighbors, including myself, pass every day, a little -patch of marshland. In the fall it is covered with a thick growth of -goldenrod, purple asters, joe-pye-weed, wild sunflowers, white -boneset, tear-thumb, black bindweed, dodder, and a score or more of -other common fall flowers. - -One night, at nine o'clock, I noticed that an ice-blue star shone from -almost the very zenith of the heavens. Below her were two faint stars -making a tiny triangle, the left-hand one showing as a beautiful -double under an opera-glass. Below was a row of other dim points of -light in the black sky. It was Vega of the Lyre, the great Harp Star. -Then I knew that the time had come. We humans think, arrogantly, that -we are the only ones for whom the stars shine, and forget that flowers -and birds, and all the wild folk are born each under its own special -star. - -The next morning I was up with the sun and visited that bit of -unpromising marshland past which all of us had plodded year in and -year out. In one corner, through the dim grass, I found flaming like -deep-blue coals one of the most beautiful flowers in the world, the -fringed gentian. The stalk and flower-stems looked like green -candelabra, while the unopened blossoms showed sharp edges like -beech-nuts. Above them glowed square fringed flowers of the richest, -deepest blue that nature holds. It is bluer than the bluebird's back, -and fades the violet, the aster, the great lobelia, and all the other -blue flowers that grow. The four petals were fringed, and the flower -seemed like a blue eye looking out of long lashes to the paler sky -above. The calyx inside was of a veined purple or a silver-white, -while four gold-tipped, light purple stamens clustered around a -canary-yellow pistil. That morning I wore on the train one of the two -flowers which I allowed myself to pick. Every friend I met spoke of it -admiringly. Some had heard of it, others had seen it for themselves in -places far distant. None of them knew that every day until frost they -would pass unheedingly within ten feet of nearly thirty of these -flowers. - -Sometimes the adventure, unlike good children, is to be heard, not -seen. It was the end of a hot August day. I had been down for a late -dip in the lake, and was coming back through the woods to the old -farmhouse where I have spent so many of my summers. The path wound -through a grove of slim birches, and the lights in the afterglow were -all green and gold and white. From the nearby road a field sparrow, -with a pink beak, sang his silver flute song; and I stopped to listen, -and thought to myself, if he were only as rare as the nightingale, how -people would crowd to hear him. - -Suddenly from the depths of the twilight woods a thrush song began. At -first I thought the singer was the wood thrush, which, besides the -veery or Wilson thrush, was the only one that I had supposed could be -found in that Connecticut township. The song, however, had a more -ethereal quality, and I listened in vain for the drop to the harsh -bass notes which always blemish the strain of the wood thrush. -Instead, after three arpeggio notes, the singer's voice went up and -up, with a sweep that no human voice or instrument could compass, and -I suddenly realized that I was in the presence of one of the great -singers of the world. For years I had read of the song of the hermit -thrush, but in all my wanderings I had never chanced to hear it -before. - -Lafcadio Hearn writes of a Japanese bird whose song has the power to -change a man's whole life. So it was with me that midsummer evening. -Some thing had been added to the joy of living that could never be -taken from me. Since that twilight I have heard the hermit thrush sing -many times. Through the rain in the dawn-dusk on the top of Mount -Pocono, he sang for me once, while all around a choir of veerys -accompanied him with their strange minor harp-chords. One Sunday -morning, at the edge of a little Canadian river, I heard five singing -together on the farther side. "Ah-h-h, holy, holy, holy," their voices -chimed across the still water. In the woods, in migration, I have -heard their whisper-song, which the hermit sings only when traveling; -and once on a May morning, in my back yard, near Philadelphia, one -sang for me from the low limb of a bush as loudly as if he were in his -mountain home. - -No thrush song, however, will ever equal that first one which I heard -among the birch trees. Creeping softly along the path that evening, I -finally saw the little singer on a branch against the darkening sky. -Again and again he sang, until at last I noticed that, when the -highest notes were reached and the song ceased to my ears, the singer -sang on still. Quivering in an ecstasy, with open beak and -half-fluttering wings, the thrush sang a strain that went beyond my -range. Like the love-song of the bat, perhaps the best part of the -song of the hermit thrush can never be heard by any human ear. - - * * * * * - -It was the morning of June twentieth. I stood at the gate of the -farm-house where three roads met, and the air was full of bird-songs. -For a long time I stood there, and tried to note how many different -songs I could hear. Nearby were the alto joy-notes of the Baltimore -oriole. Up from the meadow where the trout brook flowed, came the -bubbling, gurgling notes of the bobolink. Robins, wood thrushes, song -sparrows, chipping sparrows, blue-birds, vireos, goldfinches, chebecs, -indigo birds, flickers, phoebes, scarlet tanagers, red-winged -blackbirds, catbirds, house wrens--altogether, without moving from my -place, I counted twenty-three different bird-songs and bird-notes. - -Nearby I saw a robin's nest, curiously enough built directly on the -ground on the side of the bank of one of the roads, and lined with -white wool, evidently picked up in the neighboring sheep-pasture. -This started me on another of the games of solitaire which I like to -play out-of-doors, and I tried to see how many nests I could discover -from the same vantage-point without moving. This is really a good way -to find birds' nests, and the one who stands still and watches the -birds will often find more than he who beats about. For a long time -the robin's nest was the only one on my list. At last the flashing -orange and black of a Baltimore oriole betrayed its gray swinging -pouch of a nest in a nearby spruce tree--the only time that I have -ever seen an oriole's nest in an evergreen tree. In a lilac bush I saw -the deep nest of the catbird, with its four vivid blue eggs and the -inevitable grapevine-bark lining around its edge. - -In a high fork in a great maple tree at the corner of the road, the -chebec, or least flycatcher, showed me her home. Sooner or later, if -you watch any of the flycatchers long enough, they will generally show -you their nests. This one was high up in a fork, and made of string -and wool and down. Over in the adjoining orchard I saw a kingbird -light on her nest in the very top of an apple tree; and I have no -doubt that, if I had climbed up to it, I would have seen three -beautiful cream-white eggs blotched with chocolate-brown. - -The last nest of all was my treasure nest of the summer. I was about -to give up the game and start off for a walk, when suddenly, right -ahead of me, hanging on the limb of a sugar-maple, not five feet above -the stone wall, I saw the swinging basket-nest of a vireo, with the -woven white strips of birch-bark on the outside which all vireos use -in that part of the country. It was as if a veil had suddenly dropped -from my eyes, for I had been looking in that direction constantly, -without seeing the nest directly in front of me. Probably, at last, I -must have slightly turned my head and finally caught the light in a -different direction. I supposed that the nest was that of the red-eyed -vireo, the only one of the five vireos which would be likely to build -in such a location. Climbing upon the wall to look at it, I saw that -the mother bird was on the nest. Even when I took hold of the limb, -she did not fly. Then I slowly pulled the limb down, and still the -brave little bird stayed on her nest, although several times she -started to her feet and, ruffling her feathers, made as if to fly. As -the nest came nearer and nearer, I could see that she was quivering -all over with fear, and that her heart was beating so rapidly as to -shake her tiny body. Finally, as she came almost within reach of my -outstretched hand, she gave me one long look and then suddenly cuddled -down over her dearly loved eggs and hid her head inside of the nest. -Reaching my hand out very carefully, I stroked her quivering little -back. She raised her head and gave me another long look, as if to make -sure whether I meant her any harm. Evidently I seemed friendly, for as -I stroked her head she turned and gave my finger a little peck, then -snuggled her head up against it in the most confiding, engaging way. -As she did so, I noticed that a white line ran from the beak to the -eye, and that she had a white eye-ring and a bluish-gray head. As I -looked at her, suddenly from a nearby branch the father bird sang, -and I recognized the song of the solitary or blue-headed vireo, who -belongs in the deep woods and whose rare nest is usually found in -their depths. As the male came nearer, I could see his pure white -throat which, with the white line from eye to bill and the -greenish-yellow markings on either flank, make good field-marks. The -four eggs, which I saw afterwards when the mother bird was off the -nest, were white with reddish markings all over instead of being -blotched at one end as are those of the red-eyed vireo. Every day for -the rest of that week I visited my little friend; and before I left -she grew to know me so well that she would not even ruffle up her -feathers when I pulled the limb down. - - * * * * * - -Children are of great help in the life adventurous. They have an -inexhaustible fund of admiration for even the feeblest efforts of -their parents in adventuring. Many a dull dog, who once heard nothing -in all the world but the clank of business, has been changed into a -confirmed adventurer by sheer appreciation. Moreover, children possess -an energy and imagination which we grown-ups often lack. Only the -other afternoon I started off for a walk with my four, to find myself -suddenly dining in the New Forest with Robin Hood, Little John, Will -Scarlet, and Allan a' Dale. Owing probably to a certain comfortable -habit of person, I was elected to be Friar Tuck. - -The forest itself is a wonderful wood of great trees hidden in a -little valley between two round green hills. In its centre is a -bubbling spring of clear water that never freezes in winter or dries -up in summer. That afternoon we had explored the Haunted House at the -edge of the wood, with its date-stone of 1809, ten-foot fireplace, and -vast stone chimney, and had fearfully approached that door under which -a dark stream of blood flowed a half-century ago, on the day when all -humans stopped dwelling in that house forever. - -Little John climbed puffingly up through two sets of floor-beams, to -where a few warped hemlock boards still make a patch of flooring in -the attic. Under a rafter he found a cunningly concealed hidey-hole, -drilled like a flicker's nest into one of the soft mica-schist stones -of the chimney. Inside were a battered home-made top, whittled out of -a solid block, and two flint Indian arrow-heads, ghosts of some -long-dead boyhood which still lingered in the little attic chamber. - -In the spring twilight we stole out by a side door, so that we might -not cross that stained threshold. A lilac bush, which in a century of -growth had become a thicket of purple, scented bloom, surrounded the -whole side of the house; while beside a squat buttonwood tree of -monstrous girth was the dome of a Dutch oven. We followed a dim path -fringed with white-thorn and sprays of sweet viburnum blossoms. - -From the distance, beyond the farther hill, came the crooning of the -toads on their annual pilgrimage back to the marsh where they were -born. In time we reached a bank all blue and white with enameled -innocents. In front of this the camp-fire was always kindled. The Band -scattered for fire-wood--but not far, for there were too many lurking -shadows among those tree-trunks. At last the fire was laid and -lighted. Five minutes later all the powers of darkness fled for their -lives before the steady roaring column of smokeless flame that surged -up in front of the Band. Followed wassail and feasting galore. -Haunches of venison, tasting much like mutton-chops, broiled hissingly -at the end of green beechwood spits. Flagons of Adam's ale were -quaffed, and the loving-cup--it was of the folding variety--passed -from hand to hand. - -All at once the substantial Tuck heaved himself up to his feet beside -the dying fire. There was not a sound in the sleeping forest. -Night-folk, wood-folk, water-folk, all were still. Then from the -pursed lips of the Friar sounded a long, wavering, mournful call. -Again and again it shuddered away across the hills. Suddenly, so far -away that at first it seemed an echo, it was answered. Once and twice -more the call sounded, and each time the answer was nearer and louder. -Something was coming. As the Band listened aghast, around the circle -made by the firelight glided a dark shape with fiery eyes. It realized -their worst fears, and with one accord they threw themselves on the -Friar, who rocked under the impact. - -"Send it back, Fathie, send it back!" they shouted in chorus. - -[Illustration: THE SINGER OF THE NIGHT--THE SCREECH OWL] - -The good Friar unpuckered his lips. - -"I am surprised, comrades," he said severely. "You aren't afraid of an -old screech-owl, are you?" - -"N-n-n-ooo," quavered little Will Scarlet, "if you're _sure_ it's a -nowl." - -"Certain sure," asserted the Friar reassuringly, and gave the call -again. - -On muffled, silent wings the dark form drifted around and around the -light, but never across it, and then alighted on a nearby tree and -gave an indescribable little crooning note which the Friar could only -approximate. At last, disgusted with the clumsy attempts to continue a -conversation so well begun, the owl melted away into the darkness and -was gone. - -After that, the Band decided that home was the one place for them. -Water was poured on the blaze, and earth heaped over the hissing -embers. Under the sullen flare of Arcturus and the glow of Algieba, -Spica, and all the stars of spring, they started back by dim wood -roads and flower-scented lanes. Will Scarlet, Little John, and Allan -a' Dale frankly shared the hands of the Friar, and in the darkest -places even the redoubtable Robin himself casually took possession of -an unoccupied thumb. - - - - -II - -ZERO BIRDS - - -It had been a strenuous night. All day the mercury had been flirting -with the zero mark, and soon after sunset burrowed down into the bulb -below all readings. My bed that night felt like a well-iced tomb. -Probably daylight would have found me frozen to death if it had not -been for a saving idea. Hurrying into the children's room, I selected -two of the warmest and chubbiest. Banking them on either side of me in -my bed, I just survived the night. Of course it was hard on them; but -then, any round, warm child of proper sentiments should welcome an -opportunity to save the life of an aged parent. - -In spite of my patent heating-plant I woke up toward morning -shivering, and remembered with a terrible depression that I had -boasted to Mrs. Naturalist and to various and sundry scoffing friends -that I would cut down and cut up and haul in one forty-foot hickory -tree before the glad New Year. For a while I decided that there was -nothing on earth worth exchanging for that warm bed. Finally, however, -my better nature conquered, and the dusk before the dawn found me in -the woods in front of a dead hickory tree some forty feet high and a -couple of rods through--at least that was how its flinty girth -impressed me after I had chopped a while. The air was like iced wine. -Every axe-stroke drove it tingling through my blood. - -Before attacking the hickory, however, I began to cut down the brush -surrounding the doomed tree, so as to gain clear space for the -axe-swing. Almost immediately a vindictive spice-bush in falling -knocked off my glasses, and they fell into the snow somewhere ahead of -me. Without them I am in the same condition as a mole or a shrew, my -sense of sight being only rudimentary. Down I plumped on my knees in -the snow and fumbled in the half light with numbed fingers through the -cold whiteness ahead. - -As I groped and grumbled in this lowly position, suddenly I heard the -prelude to one of the most beautiful of winter dawn-songs. It was a -liquid loud note full of rolling _r's_. Perhaps it can be best -represented in print somewhat as follows: "Chip'r'r'r'r." I forgot my -lost glasses and my cold hands and my wet knees waiting for the song -that I knew was coming. Another preliminary, rolling note or so, and -there sounded from a low stump a wild, ringing song that could be -heard for half a mile. "Wheedle-wheedle-wheedle," it began full of -liquid bell-like overtones. Then the singer added another syllable to -his strain and sang, "Whee-udel, whee-udel, whee-udel." Three times, -with a short rest between, he sang the full double strain through, -although it was so dark that only the ghostly, black tree-trunks could -be seen against the white snow. I needed no sight of him, however, to -recognize the singer. The song took me back to a bitter winter day in -Philadelphia some seventeen years ago, when I was laboriously -learning the birds. I was walking through a bit of waste-land -encircled by trolley-tracks when I heard this same song. It was like -nothing which I had ever heard in New England, where I had learned -what little I knew about birds, and I searched everywhere for the -singer, expecting to see a bird about the size of a robin. - -Finally, in the underbrush just ahead of me, I saw an unmistakable -wren singing so ecstatically that he shook and trembled all over with -the outpouring of his song. It was my first sight and hearing of this -southern bird, the Carolina wren, the largest of our five wrens, whose -field-mark is a long white line over the eye. He is reddish-brown, -while the house wren, which is half an inch shorter, is -cinnamon-brown. The long-billed marsh wren also has a white line over -the eye and is about the same size, but is never found away from the -tall grass bordering on water, and has no such song as the Carolina. -The winter wren and the short-billed marsh wren could neither of them -be mistaken for the Carolina, as both are about an inch and a half -shorter and lack the white line. The house wren and the long-billed -marsh wren bubble when they sing, the Carolina wren and the winter -wren ring, and the short-billed marsh wren, the rarest of all, clicks. -Of them all only the Carolina wren sings in the winter. - -That day the wren-song brought me good luck. It was no more than -finished when I heard someone passing along a nearby wood-road, who -turned out to be an early-rising workman from whom I borrowed some -matches with which I finally discovered my missing eyes half buried in -the snow. I attacked the pignut hickory with great energy to make up -for lost time. Little by little the axe bit through the tough wood, -until the kerf was well past the heart of the tree. As I chopped I -could hear the quick strokes of a far better wood-cutter than I shall -ever be. Suddenly he gave a loud, rattling call, and I recognized the -hairy woodpecker. He is much larger than the downy, being nearly the -size of a robin, while his call is wilder and louder and lacks the -downward run of the downy's note. We chopped on together, he at his -tree and I at mine. Suddenly from my tree sounded a warning crack, and -the trunk wavered for a moment. I stepped well off to one side, for it -is dangerous to stand behind a falling tree. If it strikes anything as -it falls the trunk may shoot backward. A venerable ancestor of mine, -so the story runs, tried to celebrate his ninetieth birthday by -chopping down a tree, and standing behind it, was killed by the -back-lash of the falling trunk. - -The tree swayed forward toward the crimson rim of the rising sun. One -more stroke at its heart, and there was a loud series of cracks, -followed by a roar like thunder as it crashed down. Almost -immediately, as if awakened by the noise, I began to hear bird-notes. -From over to my left sounded a series of sharp, irritating -alarm-notes, and in the waxing light I caught a glimpse of a crested -blood-red bird at the edge of a green-brier thicket. In that same -place I had found his nest the spring before, made of twigs and strips -of bark and lined with grass and roots and holding three speckled -eggs. It was the cardinal grosbeak, another bird unknown to me in New -England. No matter how often I meet this crimson-crested grosbeak, he -will never become a common bird to me. Each time I see him I feel -again something of the thrill which came over me when I first met this -singer from the southland in a thicket on the edge of Philadelphia. -With the Carolina wren and the tufted titmouse, the cardinal grosbeak -completes a trio of birds that can never be commonplace to one born -north of Central Park, New York, which is about the limit of their -northern range. - -To-day, as I watched my flaming cardinal, he suddenly dived stiffly -into the heart of the thicket. A moment later from its midst sounded a -clear, loud whistle, "Whit, whit, whit." I answered him, for this is -one of the few bird-calls I can imitate. Before long his dove-colored -mate also appeared. Her wings and tail were of a duller red, while the -upper-parts of her sleek body were of a brownish-ash tint. The throat -and a patch by the base of the bill were black in both. As I watched, -the singer in the thicket added to his whistle the word "Teu, teu, -teu, teu" and then finally ran them together--"Whee-teu, whee-teu, -whee-teu," so rapidly whistled that it sounded almost like a single -note. - -On the way back to breakfast, as the sun came up and warmed a slope of -the woods, a flock of slate-colored juncos burst out altogether in a -chorus of soft little trills, with now and then sharp alarm-notes -like the clicking of pebbles together, interspersed with tiny -half-whispered notes best expressed by the same letters as those used -in writing the grosbeak music--"Teu, teu, teu, teu." Suddenly, from a -farther corner of the sun-warmed slope, I heard a few tinkling notes -followed by a tantalizing snatch of rich, sweet song shot through with -canary-like trills and runs. I hurried over the snow and caught a -glimpse of a little flock of birds with crowns of reddish-brown, and -each wearing small black spots in the exact centre of their -drab-colored waistcoats. They were tree-sparrows down from the far -North, and I was fortunate to have heard the peculiarly gentle cadence -of one of their rare winter songs. - -Farther on, the caw of a passing crow drifted down from the cold sky, -and before I left the woods I heard the pip of a downy woodpecker and -the grunt of the white-breasted nuthatch, that tree-climber with the -white cheeks which, unlike woodpeckers, can go both up and down trees -head-foremost. In the early spring and sometimes on warm winter days, -one may hear his spring song, which is "Quee-quee-quee." It is not -much of a song, but Mr. Nuthatch is very proud of it and usually -pauses admiringly between each two strains. In my early bird-days I -used to mistake this spring song for the note of an early flicker, and -would scandalize better-educated ornithologists by reporting flickers -several weeks before their time. The last bird I heard before I left -the woods remarked solemnly, "Too-wheedle, too-wheedle, too-wheedle, -too-wheedle," like a creaking wheelbarrow, and then suddenly broke out -into the flat, harsh "Djay, djay, djay" which has given the -silver-and-blue jay its name. - -By the time I had reached home, I decided that it was too cold a day -to practise law safely. The state legislature in their wisdom had -already made the day a half-holiday. Not to be outdone in generosity, -I decided to donate my half and make the holiday a whole one. Anent -this matter of holidays, the trouble with most of us is that we are -obsessed with the importance of our daily work. There are many -pleasant byways which we plan to come back and explore when we have -reached the end of the straight, steep, and intensely narrow road that -leads to achievement. The trouble is that there is no returning. Men -die rich, famous, or successful, who have never taken the time to -companion their children or to find their way into the world of the -wild-folk which lies at their very doors. It was not always so. Read -in Evelyn's Diary how for sixty years a great man played a great part -under three kings and the grim Protector, and yet never lost an -opportunity to refresh his life with bird-songs, hilltops, -flower-fields, and sky-air. We reach our goal to-day in a few -desperate years, stripped to the buff like a Marathon runner. One can -arrive later and not miss a thousand little happinesses along the way. - -With similar arguments I convinced myself on that day, that it was my -duty as an amateur naturalist to discover how many birds I could meet -between dawn and dark with the thermometer below zero. Certain -gentlemen-adventurers of my acquaintance aided and abetted me in this -plan. They all held high office in a military organization known for -short as the Band. There was First Lieutenant Trottie, Second -Lieutenant Honey, Sergeant Henny-Penny, and Corporal Alice-Palace, -while I had been honored with a captain's commission in this regiment. -To be sure, there was something of a dearth of privates; but with such -a gallant array of officers their absence was not felt. At any hour of -day or night, to the last man, every member of the Band was ready for -the most desperate adventures by field and flood. - -[Illustration: A CROW CHORUS] - -As we left the house the thermometer stood at four below, while the -sky was of a frozen blue, without a cloud, and had a hard glitter as -if streaked with frost. In a low tree by the roadside, we heard the -metallic note of a downy woodpecker scurrying up the trunk and backing -stiffly down. Farther on sounded a loud cawing, and we saw four -ruffianly crows assaulting a respectable female broad-winged hawk. One -after the other they would flap over her as closely as possible, -aiming vicious pecks as they passed. The broad-winged beat the air -frantically with her short, wide, fringed wings, and seemed to make no -effort to defend herself against her black, jeering pursuers. Once she -alighted on an exposed limb. Instantly the crows settled near her and -used language which no respectable female hawk could listen to for a -moment. She spread her wings and soared away, and as she passed out -of sight they were still cawing on her trail. - -If the hawk had been one of the swift Accipiters, such as the gray -goshawk or the Cooper's hawk, or any of the falcons, no crow would -have ventured to take any liberties. One of my friends, who collects -bird's eggs instead of bird-notes, was once attempting feloniously to -break and enter the home of a duck-hawk which was highly regarded in -the community--about two hundred feet highly in fact. As my friend was -swinging back and forth on a rope in front of the perpendicular cliff, -said duck-hawk dashed at him at the rate of some ninety miles per -hour. Being scared off by a blank cartridge, the enraged falcon -towered. A passing crow flapping through the air made a peck at the -hawk as it shot past. That was one of the last and most unfortunate -acts in that crow's whole life. The duck-hawk was fairly aching with -the desire to attack someone or something which was not protected by -thunder and lightning. With one flash of its wings it shot under that -misguided crow, and, turning on its back in mid-air, slashed it with -six talons like sharpened steel. The crow dropped, a dead mass of -black and blood, to the brow of the cliff below. - -Finally we reached the tall, stone chimney--all that is left of some -long-forgotten house, which marks the entrance to old Darby Road, -which was opened in 1701. At that point Wild-Folk Land begins. The -hurrying feet of more than two centuries have sunk the road some ten -feet below its banks, and the wild-folk use its hidden bed like one -of their own trails. Foxes pad along its rain-washed course, and -rabbits and squirrels hop and scurry across its narrow width, while in -spring and summer wild ginger, ebony spleenwort, the blue-and-white -porcelain petals of the hepatica, and a host of other flowers bloom on -its banks. The birds too nest there, from the belted gray-blue and -white kingfisher, which has bored a deep hole into the clay under an -overhanging wild-cherry tree, down to the field sparrow, with its pink -beak and flute-song, which watches four speckled eggs close-hidden in -a tiny cup of woven grass. - -To-day we followed the windings of the road, until we came to the vast -black oak tree which marks the place where Darby Road, after running -for nearly ten miles, stops to rest. Beyond stretched the unbroken -expanse of Blacksnake Swamp, bounded by the windings of Darby Creek. -The Band seated themselves on one of their favorite resting-places, a -great log which lay under the trees. Above us a white-breasted -nuthatch, with its white cheeks and black head, was rat-tat-tatting up -and around a half-dead limb, picking out every insect egg in sight -from the bark. As the bird came near the broken top of the bough, out -of a hole popped a very angry red squirrel exactly like a -jack-in-the-box. The red squirrel is the fastest of all the tree-folk -among the animals, but a nuthatch on a limb is not afraid of anything -that flies or crawls or climbs. He can run up and down around a -branch, forward and backward, unlike the woodpeckers, which must -always back down, or the brown creepers, which can go up a tree in -long spirals but have to fly down. - -A red streak flashed down the limb on which the nuthatch was working. -That was the squirrel. A fraction of a second ahead of the squirrel -there was a wink of gray and white. That was the nuthatch. Before the -squirrel could even recover his balance, there was a cheerful -rat-tat-tat just behind him on the other side of the limb. As the -squirrel turned, the rapping sounded on the other side of the branch. -His bushy tail quivered, and using some strong squirrel-language, he -dived back into his hole. He was hardly out of sight when the nuthatch -was tapping again at his door. Once more the squirrel rushed out -chattering and sputtering. Once more the nuthatch was not there. Then -he tried chasing the bird around the limb, but there was nothing in -that. The nuthatch could turn in half the time and space, and moreover -did not have to be afraid of falling, for a drop of fifty feet to -frozen ground is no joke even for a red squirrel. The aggravating -thing about the nuthatch was that, no matter how hard the squirrel -chased him, he never stopped for a second, tapping away at the branch, -feeding even as he ran. Finally Mr. Squirrel went back to his house -and stayed there, while the nuthatch tapped in triumph all around his -hole, although muffled chatterings from within expressed the -squirrel's unvarnished opinion of that nuthatch. - -When the nuthatch finally flew to another tree, we got up and followed -a path that twisted through a barren field full of grassy tussocks -and clumps of mockernut hickories and black-walnut trees, until it at -last lost itself in the depths of Blacksnake Swamp. This swamp had -taken its name from the day that we caught a black snake skimming -along over the tops of the bushes like a bird. In summer it is full of -impassable quagmires, and to-day we hoped to explore the hidden places -which we had never yet seen. We had scarcely passed through the outer -fringe of tall grasses and cat-tails, when we heard everywhere through -the cold air little tinkling notes, and caught glimpses of dark -sparrow-like birds with forked tails, striped breasts, and streaked -rich brown backs, each one showing a fine zigzag whitish line at the -bend of the wing. Another field-mark was a light patch over each eye, -and we identified the first and largest flock of pine siskin of the -year. These siskin are strange birds. One never knows when and where -they will appear. The last flock that I had seen was in my back-yard -in May. Usually too they are in trees, and this was the first time -that I had ever met with them on the ground. The birds gave little -canary-like notes, like goldfinches, which are often found with them, -but can always be recognized by their unstreaked breasts and double -wing-bars. - -[Illustration: JUST OUT OF THE NEST--YOUNG RED SQUIRRELS] - -For a long time we studied the flock through our field-glasses, until -every last one of the Band had learned this new bird. As we watched -them, a white-throated sparrow lisped from a nearby bush, and a little -later we met a flock of tree sparrows, a bird which is never by any -chance found in a tree. In the distance a woodpecker flew through the -air in a labored up-and-down flight, and, as he disappeared, he gave -the wild cry of the hairy woodpecker, a bird nearly twice the size of -his smaller brother, the downy. Close by the side of the creek, we -heard a tiny note like "pheep, pheep, pheep," and, even as we looked -for the bird, it flew past and lit on a tree on the other side of the -path, not two feet away. We all stood stony still, and in a minute a -brown creeper circled the tree, climbing it in tiny hops in a wide -spiral. He was so close that we could see his stiff, spiny tail with a -little row of spots at its base, and the brown and gray speckles on -his back, and his long curiously curved bill. - -We pressed on into the very heart of the great, treacherous marsh, -to-day frozen hard and safe, and explored all of its secret places. In -a tangle of wild-grape vine, we found the round nest, rimmed with -grape-vine bark, of the cardinal grosbeak; while over in a thicket of -elderberry bushes, all rusty-gold with the clinging stems of that -parasite, the dodder, showed the close sheath of the fine branches of -a swamp maple. In a fork at the end of one of the branches, all -silver-gray, was the empty nest of a goldfinch, the last of all the -birds to nest. It was made of twisted strands of the silk of the -milkweed pods hackled by the bird's beak. In the snow, we came across -a strange track almost like the trail of a snake. It was a wide -trough, with little close-set, zigzag paw-marks running all through -it. The Captain told the Band that this was the trail of the fierce -blarina shrew, one of the killers. Without eyes or ears, this strange -little blind death eats its weight in flesh every twenty-four hours, -and slays under ground, above ground, and even under the water. The -Band regarded the strange tracks with enormous interest. - -"How big do they grow?" anxiously inquired Henny-Penny, the littlest -but one of the Band. - -"Just a little longer than my middle finger," the Captain reassured -him. - -Suddenly, in the very midst of this zoölogical bric-a-brac, a great -thought came to each and every of the Band simultaneously. - -"Lunch-time!" they shouted with one accord. - -Then occurred the tragedy of the trip. In a pocket of his -shooting-jacket the Captain had a package of sandwiches containing -just one apiece, no more, no less. The rest of the lunch, thick -scones, raisins, chocolate, saveloy sausage, bacon, and other -necessaries and luxuries, had been wrapped up in another package and -intrusted to Honey as head of the commissary department for the -day--and Honey had left the package on the hall table! It was a grief -almost too great to be borne. The Band regarded their guilty comrade -reproachfully. Two large tears ran down Honey's cheeks. Alice-Palace, -the littlest of them all, gave way to unrestrained emotions which bade -fair to frighten away the most blood-thirsty of blarinas within the -radius of a mile. - -Then it was that the Captain rose to the emergency. "Comrades," said -he, placing one hand over Alice-Palace's widely-opened mouth, "all is -not lost. Old woodsmen like ourselves can find food anywhere. Follow -me. Hist!" - -Like Hawk-Eye and Chingachgook and other well-known scouts, the -Captain was apt to employ that mysterious word when beginning a -desperate adventure. The Band followed him with entire confidence, -albeit with certain snifflings on the part of Corporal Alice-Palace. -They crossed a tiny brook, and found themselves in a little grove of -swamp maples which had grown up around the fallen trunk of the parent -tree. The Captain scanned the trees carefully. Everywhere were trails -in the snow which he told them were the tracks of gray squirrels. -Suddenly he reached up and picked out from between a little twig -and the smooth trunk of a swamp-maple sapling, a big, dry, -beautifully-seasoned black walnut. That started the Band to looking, -and they found that the little trees were filled with walnuts, each -one wedged in between twigs or branches so that it would not blow -down. Up and down and about the low trees climbed and scrambled the -Band. Some of the nuts were hidden and some were in plain sight, but -altogether there was nearly half a peck of them, each one containing a -dry, crisp, golden kernel which tasted as rich and delicious as it -looked. They had come upon the winter storehouse of a gray-squirrel -family. - -Piling the nuts in the lee of a big oak tree where the camp-fire was -to be made, they followed the Captain to a broken-down rail fence, -where grew a thicket of tiny trees with smooth trunks, whose gray -twigs were laden down with bunches of what looked like tiny purple -plums. Each one had a layer of pulp over a flat stone, and this pulp, -what there was of it, had a curious attractive spicy sugary taste. The -Captain told the Band that these were nanny-plums, sometimes known as -sweet viburnum. Further on, they found clusters of little purple -fox-grapes, fiercely sour in the fall, but now sweetened enough, under -the bite of the frost, to be swallowed. - -Still the Captain was not ready to stop. Up the hillside he led them, -by a winding path through tangled thickets, until in a level place he -brought them to a group of curious trees. The bark of these was deeply -grooved and in places nearly three inches thick, while the branches -were covered with scores and scores of golden-red globes. Some were -wrinkled and frost-bitten until they had turned brown, but others -still hung plump and bright in the winter air. It was a grove of -persimmon trees. Before he could be stopped, Henny-Penny had picked -one of the best-looking of the lot and took a deep bite out of the -soft pulp. Immediately thereafter he spat out his first taste of -persimmon with great emphasis, his mouth so puckered that it was with -difficulty that he could express his unfavorable opinion of the new -fruit. - -"Handsome is as handsome does," warned the Captain. "Try some of the -frost-bitten ones." - -The Band accordingly did so, and found that the worst-looking and most -wrinkled specimens were sweet as honey and without a trace of pucker. -On their way back, they passed through a thicket of tangled bushes, -whose branches were all matted together in bunches which looked like -birds' nests. The twigs were laden down with round, purple berries -about the size of a wild cherry, and the Captain told the Band that -these were hackberries, otherwise known as sugar-berries. They picked -handfuls of them, and found that the berry had a sweet spicy pulp over -a fragile stone that could be crushed like the stones of a raisin, -while the fruit when eaten resembled a raisin in taste. - -Hurrying back to the camp-fire tree, the Captain dug a round circle a -couple of feet in diameter in the snow, and spread down a layer of dry -leaves. Over these he built a little tepee of tiny, dry, black-oak -twigs. Underneath this he placed a fragment of birch-bark which he had -peeled off one of the aspen birches which grew on the fringe of the -swamp. This burned like paper, and in a minute the little ball of dry -twigs was crackling away with a steady flame. Over this he piled dry -sassafras and hickory boughs, and in a few moments the Band was seated -around a column of flame which roared up fully four feet high. With -their backs against the great oak tree, they cracked and cracked and -cracked black walnuts and crunched sugar-berries and nibbled -nanny-plums and tasted frost-grapes--saving the single sandwich until -next to the last; while for desert they had handfuls and handfuls of -honey-sweet, wrinkled persimmons. - -[Illustration: THE DEAR DEER MICE] - -Near the fire Lieutenant Trottie found an old box-cover bedded in the -snow. As he lifted it up, there was a rush and a scurry, and from a -round, warm nest underneath the cover, made of thistle-down, fur, -feathers, and tiny bits of woodfibre all matted together into a sort -of felt, dashed six reddish-brown, pink-pawed mice. They burrowed in -the snow, crept under the leaves, and in a minute were out of sight, -all except one, which tried to climb the box-cover and which Trottie -caught before he could scurry over the top of it. His fur was like -plush, with the hair a warm reddish-brown at the ends and gray at the -roots. Underneath he was snowy-white, although there, too, the fur -showed mouse-gray under the surface. He had little brown claws and six -tiny pink disks on each paw, which enabled him to run up and down -perpendicular surfaces. His eyes were big and brown and lustrous, and -he had flappy, pinky-gray, velvet ears, each one of which was half the -size of his funny little face and thin as gossamer. His paws were pink -and his long tail was covered with the finest of hairs. When he found -he was fairly caught, he snuggled down into Trottie's hand, making a -queer little whimpering noise, while his nose wrinkled and quivered. -When Trottie brought him to the fire, Henny-Penny offered him a -half-kernel of one of his walnuts. Instantly the little nose stopped -quivering, and Mousy sat up like a squirrel on the back of Trottie's -hand and nibbled away until the piece was all gone. Each one of the -Band took turns in feeding him until he could eat no more. Then -Trottie put him back in the deserted nest and replaced the box-cover. - -The last adventure of all was on the way home. We were walking along -an abandoned railroad track, when suddenly a flock of light grayish -birds flew up all together out of the dry grass and lighted in a small -elm tree nearby. As we watched them, they turned and all flew down -together. Instantly it was as if a mass of peach-blossoms had been -spilled on the withered grass and white snow. Fully a third of the -flock had crimson crowns and rose-colored breasts, while at the base -of the streaked gray-and-brown backs showed a tinge of pink. It was -our first flock of the lesser redpolls all the way down from the -Arctic Circle. They were restless but not shy, and sometimes we were -able to get within six feet of them. They would continually fly back -and forth from the tree to the ground, keeping up a soft chattering -interspersed with little tinkling notes, somewhat resembling the -goldfinch or the siskin which we had left behind us in the swamp. -Always, when they flew, they gave a little piping call, and their -field-mark was a black patch under the throat which could be seen even -farther than their red polls or their rosy breasts. Their beaks were -light and very pointed, and they had forked tails like the siskin. - -It was nearly twilight when we left them and at last started home. As -we followed a fox-trail in and out through the thickets of Fern -Valley, we caught a glimpse of a large brown bird on the ground. At -first I thought that it was some belated fox sparrow; but when it -hopped to a low twig and then raised its tail stiffly as I watched, I -recognized the hermit thrush, which always betrays itself by this -curious mannerism. The last one I had seen was singing like Israfel, -in the twilight of a Canadian forest. To-day the little singer was -silent, and I wondered what had kept him back from the southland, and -hoped that he would be able to win through the bitter days still ahead -of him. I have no doubt that he did, for the hermit thrush is a -brave-hearted, hardy, self-reliant bird. - -The sun had gone down before we finally reached the road. Above the -after-glow showed a patch of apple-green sky against which was etched -the faintest, finest, and newest of crescent moons. It almost seemed -as if a puff of wind would blow her like a cobweb out of the sky. -Above gleamed Venus, the evening star, all silver-gold; while over -toward the other side of the sky, great golden Jupiter echoed back her -rays. Below the green, the sky was a mass of dusky gold which deepened -into amber and then slowly faded. As we walked home through the -twilight, we heard the last, sweetest, and saddest singer of that -winter day. Through the air shuddered a soft tremolo call, like the -whistling of swift, unseen wings or the wail of a little lost child. -It was the eerie call of the little screech-owl--and never was a bird -worse named. Answering, I brought him so close to us that we could see -his ear-tufts showing in the half-light. All the way home he followed -us, calling and calling for some one who will never come. - - - - -III - -SNOW STORIES - - -The sun went down in a spindrift of pale gold and gray, which faded -into a bank of lead-colored cloud. The next morning the woods and -fields were dumb with snow. No blue jays squalled, nor white-skirted -juncos clicked; neither were there any nuthatches running gruntingly -up and down the tree-trunks. There was not even the caw of a passing -crow from the cold sky. As I followed an unbroken wood-road, it seemed -as if all the wild-folk were gone. - -The snow told another story. On its smooth surface were records of the -lives that had throbbed and passed and ebbed beneath the silent trees. -Just ahead of me the road crossed a circle where, a half-century ago, -the charcoal-burners had set the round stamp of one of their pits. On -the level snow there was a curious trail of zigzag tracks. They were -deep and close-set, and made by some animal that walked flat-footed. I -recognized the trail of the unhasting skunk. Other animals may jump -and run and skurry through life, but the motto of the skunk is, "Don't -hurry, others will." The tracks of the fore-paw, when examined -closely, showed long claw-marks which were absent from the print of -the hind feet. Occasionally the trail changed into a series of groups -of four tracks arranged in a diagonal straight line, which marked -where the skunk had broken into the clumsy gallop which is its fastest -gait. Most of the time this particular skunk had walked in a slow and -dignified manner. By the edge of the woods he had stopped and dug -deeply into a rotten log, evidently looking for winter-bound crickets -and grubs. - -At this point another character was added to the plot of this snow -story. Approaching at right angles to the trail of the skunk were the -tracks of a red fox. I knew he was red, because that is the only kind -of fox found in that part of New England. I knew them to be the tracks -of a fox, because they ran straight instead of spraddling like a dog, -and never showed any mark of a dragging foot. The trail told what had -happened. The first tracks were the far-apart ones of a hunting fox. -When he reached the skunk's trail, the foot-prints became close -together and ran parallel to the trail and some distance away from it. -The fox was evidently following the tracks in a thoughtful mood. He -was a young fox, or he would not have followed them at all. At the -edge of the clearing he had sighted the skunk and stopped, for the -prints were melted deep into the snow. Sometimes an old and hungry fox -will kill a skunk. In order to do this safely, the spine of the skunk -must be broken instantly by a single pounce, thus paralyzing the -muscles on which the skunk depends for his defense; for the skunk -invented the gas-attack a million years before the Boche. No living -animal can stay within range of the choking fumes of the liquid musk -which the skunk can throw for a distance of several feet. The snow -told me what happened next. It was a sad story. The fox had sprung and -landed beside the skunk, intending to snap it up like a rabbit. The -skunk snapped first. Around the log was a tangle of fox-tracks, with -flurries and ridges and holes in the snow where the fox had rolled and -burrowed. Out of the farther side a series of tremendous bounds showed -where a wiser and a smellier fox had departed from that skunk with an -initial velocity of close to one mile per minute. Finally, out of the -confused circle came the neat, methodical trail of the unruffled skunk -as he moved sedately away. Probably to the end of his life the device -of a black-and-white tail rampant will always be associated in that -fox's mind with the useful maxim, "Mind your own business." - -Beyond the instructive fable of the fox and the skunk showed lace-work -patterns and traceries in the snow where scores and hundreds of the -mice-folk had come up from their tunnels beneath the whiteness, and -had frolicked and feasted the long night through. Some of these tracks -were in little clumps of fours. Each group had a five-fingered pair of -large prints in front and a pair of four-fingered tracks just behind. -Down the middle ran a tail-mark. They were the tracks of the -white-footed or deer-mice. These were the same little robbers which -swarmed into my winter camp and gnawed everything in sight. Even a -flitch of bacon hung on a cord was riddled with their tiny -teeth-marks. Only things hung on wires were safe, for their clinging -little feet cannot find a footing on the naked iron. One night they -gnawed a ring of round holes through the crown of a cherished felt hat -belonging to a friend of mine. The language he used when he looked at -that hat the next morning was unfit for the ears of any young -deer-mouse. Another time the deer-mice carried off about a peck of -expensive stuffing from a white horse-hair mattress, which I had -imported for the personal repose of my aged frame. Although I -ransacked that cabin from turret to foundation-stone I could never -find a trace of that horse-hair. In spite of their evil ways one -cannot help liking the little rascals. They have such bright, black -eyes, and wear such snowy, silky waistcoats and stockings. - -The other evening I sat reading alone in my cabin in the heart of the -pine-barrens before a roaring fire. Suddenly I felt something tickle -my knee. When I moved there was a sudden jump and a deer-mouse sprang -out from my trouser-leg to the floor. Then I put a piece of bread on -the edge of the wood-box. Although I saw the bread disappear, I could -catch no glimpse of what took it. Finally I put a piece on my shoe, -and after running back and forth from the wood-box several times, Mr. -Mouse at last became brave enough to take it. When he found that I did -not move, he sat up on my shoe like a little squirrel and nibbled away -at his crumb, watching me all the time out of a corner of his black -eyes. I forgave him my friend's hat, and was almost ready to overlook -the horse-hair episode. When I moved, like a flash he dashed up the -wall by the fireplace, and hid behind a row of books that stood on -the red-oak plank which I had put in as a mantel-piece. Unfortunately -he had forgotten to hide his long silky tail. It hung down through the -crack between the plank and the rough stone of the chimney. I tiptoed -over and gave it a pinch to remind him to meddle no more with other -people's mattresses. - -Returning to the wood-road--on that morning, among the trails of the -deer-mice were the more numerous tracks of the meadow- or field-mouse. -They show no tail-mark, and the smaller footprints were not side by -side as with the deer-mice, but almost always one behind the other. -These smaller paw-marks among all jumping-animals, such as rabbits, -squirrels, and mice, are always the marks of the fore-paws. The larger -far-apart tracks mark where the hind feet of the jumper come down in -front and outside of the fore-paws as he jumps. - -On that day, among the mouse-tracks on the snow there showed another -faint trail, which looked like a string of tiny exclamation marks with -a tail-mark between them. It was the track of the masked shrew, the -smallest mammal of the Eastern states. This tiny fierce fragment of -flesh and blood is only about the length of a man's little finger. So -swift are the functions of its wee body that, deprived of food for six -hours, the shrew starves and dies. Many of them are found starved to -death on the melting snow, having crept up from their underground -burrows through the shafts made by grass and weed-stems. Wandering -over the white waste, they lose their way and, failing to find food, -starve before the sun is half way down the sky. As the shrew does not -hibernate, his whole life is a swift hunt for food; for every day this -apparently eyeless, earless animal must eat its own weight in flesh. -The weasels kill from blood-lust, but the shrews kill for their very -life's sake. It is a fearsome sight to see a shrew attack a mouse. The -mouse bites. The shrew eats. Boring in, the shrew secures a grip with -its long, crooked, crocodile jaws filled with fierce teeth, and -devours its way like fire through skin and flesh and bone, worrying -out and swallowing mouthfuls of blood and flesh until the mouse falls -over dead. This tiny beastling, the masked shrew, must be weighed by -troy weight, and tips a jeweler's scale at less than forty-five -grains. - -To-day the snow said the shrew had been an unbidden and unwelcome -guest at the mice-dinner. At first the mice-trails were massed -together in a maze of tracks. Where the trail of the shrew touched the -circle, there shot out separate lines of mice-tracks, like the spokes -of a wheel, with the paw-marks far apart, showing that the guests had -all sprung up from the laden table of the snow and dashed off in -different directions. The shrew-track circled faintly here and there, -ran for some distance in a long straight trail, and--stopped. The -Sword of Damocles, which hangs forever over the head of all the little -wild-folk, had fallen. The shrew was gone. A tiny fleck of blood and a -single track like a great X on the snow told the tale of his passing. -All his fierceness and courage availed nothing when the great talons -of the flying death clamped through his soft fur. X is the signature -of the owl-folk just as K is of the hawk-kind. The size of the mark in -this case showed that the killer was one of the larger owls. Later in -the winter it might have been the grim white Arctic owl, which -sometimes comes down from the frozen North in very cold weather. So -early in the season, however, it would be either the barred or the -great horned owl. - -I had hunted and camped and fished and tramped all through this -hill-country, and although I had often heard at night the "Whoo, -hoo-hoo, hoo, hoo" of the great horned owl, which keeps always the -same pitch, I had never heard the call of the barred owl, which ends -in a falling cadence with a peculiar deep, hollow note. So I decided -that the maker of the track was that fierce king of the deep woods, -whose head, with its ear-tufts or horns, may be seen peering from his -nest of sticks on the mountainside in a high tree-top as early as -February. On wings so muffled by soft downy feathers as to be -absolutely noiseless, he had swooped down in the darkness, and the -tiny bubble of the shrew's life had broken into the void. - -Beyond this point the road wound upward toward the slope of the -Cobble, a steep, sharp-pointed little hill which suddenly thrust -itself up from a circle of broad meadows and flat woodlands. Time was -when all the Cobble was owned and ploughed clear to its peak by -Great-great-uncle Samuel, who had a hasty disposition and a tremendous -voice, and ploughed with two yoke of oxen which required a -considerable amount of conversation. Tradition has it that, when -discoursing to them, he could be heard in four different towns. That -was more than one hundred years ago, and the Cobble has been untouched -by plough or harrow since, and to-day is wooded to the very top. - -[Illustration: DEATH-IN-THE-DARK--THE GREAT HORNED OWL] - -Just ahead of me on the wood-road showed a deep track which only in -recent years has been seen in Connecticut. In my boyhood a deer-track -was as unknown as that of a wolf, and the wolves have been gone for at -least a century. Within the last ten years the deer have come back. -Last summer I met two on the roads with the cows, and later saw seven -make an unappreciated visit to my neighbor's garden, where they seemed -to approve highly of her lettuce. Straight up the hillside ran the -line of deeply stamped little hoof-marks. The trail looks like a -sheep's; but the front of each track ends in two beautifully curved -sharp points, while the track of a sheep is straighter and blunter. -Nor could any sheep negotiate that magnificent bound over the -five-foot rail fence. From take-off to where the four small hoofs -landed together on the other side was a good twenty feet. - -On the other side of the fence the snow had drifted over a patch of -sweet fern by the edge of the wood-road in a low hummock. As I plodded -along, I happened to strike this with my foot. There was a tremendous -whirring noise, the snow exploded all over me, and out burst a -magnificent cock partridge, as we call the ruffed grouse in New -England, and whizzed away among the laurels like a lyddite shell. -When the snowstorm began, he had selected a cozy spot in the lee of -the sweet-fern patch, and had let himself be snowed over. The warmth -of his body had made a round, warm room, and with plenty of rich -fern-seeds within easy reach, he was prepared to stay in winter -quarters a week, if necessary. - -The stories of the snow, although often difficult to read, are always -interesting. After the winter fairly sets in, we read nothing about -the Seven Sleepers who have put themselves in cold storage until -spring. The bear, the raccoon, the woodchuck, the skunk, the chipmunk, -and the jumping-mouse are all fast asleep underground. The last -sleeper never touches the ground when awake, and sleeps swinging -up-side-down by the long, recurved nails on his hind feet. He is the -bat, who lives and hunts in the air, and can out-fly any bird of his -own size. - -Perhaps the most unexpected of the snow stories was one which I read -one winter day when out for a walk with the Botanist. Although the -snow was on the ground, the sky was as blue as in June, as the -Botanist and I swung into an old road that the forgotten feet of more -than two centuries had worn deep below its banks. It was opened in -1691, when William and Mary were king and queen, and Boston Tea -Parties and Liberty Bells and Declarations of Independence were not -yet even dreamed of in the land. - -We always keep a bird-record of every walk, and note down the names of -the sky-folk whom we meet and any interesting bit of news that they -may have for us. In the migration season there is great rivalry as to -who shall meet the greatest number from the crowd of travelers going -north. Last year my best day's record was eighty-four different kinds -of birds, which beat the Botanist by two. A black duck and a late -bay-breasted warbler were the cause of his undoing. To a birdist every -walk is full of possibilities. Any day, anywhere, some bird may flash -into sight for the first time. - -The Botanist has pointed out to me not fewer than twenty times the -sacred field where, one bitter winter day, he saw his first (and last) -flock of horned larks. For my part, I never fail to show him the -pignut hickory where my first golden-winged warbler spoke to me one -May morning. - -To-day, however, our walk was almost a birdless one. We heard the caw -of the crow, the only bird-note that can be certainly counted on for -every day of the year. We saw the flutter of the white skirts of the -juncos. From a blighted chestnut tree we saw a bird flash down into -the dry grass from his perch on a dead limb. As we came nearer, he -glided off like a little aeroplane, and we recognized the flight and -the spotted buff waistcoat of the sparrow-hawk hunting meadow-mice. - -Later in the morning we heard the "Pip, pip," of the song sparrow, and -marked the black spot on his breast. Far ahead, across a snow-covered -meadow, a bird flew dippingly up and down. He had laid aside his -canary-yellow and black suit, but his flight bewrayed the goldfinch. - -Passing through a beechwood, we heard a sharp call, and saw a -black-and-white bird back down a tree. This cautious procedure stamped -him as the downy woodpecker. Of all the tree-climbers only the -woodpeckers back down. - -Strangely enough, a short distance farther on we heard another cry -like that of the downy woodpecker, only harsher and wilder, and caught -a glimpse of the hairy woodpecker, the big brother of the downy, a -rarer, larger bird of the deep woods. That ended our bird list--a -paltry seven when we should have had a score. - -We passed the swamp meadow close to the road, where the blue, blind -gentian grows not twenty-five yards from the unseeing eyes of the -travelers, who pass there every October day and never suspect what a -miracle of color lies hidden in the tangle of marsh-grass beside their -path. The Botanist with many misgivings had shown me the secret. For -three years we had tramped together before he held me to be worthy to -share it. - -Farther on we crossed a plateau where a series of stumps showed where -a grove of chestnut trees had grown in the days before the Blight. -Suddenly from under our very feet dashed a brown rabbit, his white -powder-puff gleaming at every jump. The lithe, lean, springing body -seemed the very embodiment of speed. There are few animals that can -pass a rabbit in a hundred yards, even our cottontail, the slowest of -his family. He is, however, only a sprinter. In a long-distance event -the fox, the dog, and even the dogged, devilish little weasel can run -him down. - -We looked at the form where he had been lying. It was a wet little -hollow made in the dank grass, with only a few dripping leaves for a -mattress--a forlorn bed. Yet Runny-Bunny, as some children I know have -named him, seems to rest well in his open-air sleeping porch, and even -lies abed there. - -One far-away snowy day in February two of us stole a few moments from -the bedside of a sick child--how long, long ago it all seems now!--and -walked out among the wild-folk to forget. In a bleak meadow, right at -our feet, we saw a rabbit crouched, nearly covered by the snow. He had -been snowed under days before, but had slept out the storm until half -of his fleecy coverlet had melted away. - -He lay so still that at first we thought he was dead; but on looking -closely, we could see the quick throbbing of his frightened little -heart. There was not a quiver from his taut body, or a blink from his -wide-open eyes. He lay motionless until my hand stroked gently his wet -fur. Then, indeed, he exploded like a brown bomb-shell from the snow, -and we laughed and laughed, the first and last time for many a weary -week. - -Years later, I was coasting down the meadow-hill with one of my boys; -and, as the sled came to a stop, a rabbit burst out of the snow, -almost between the runners. The astonished boy rolled into a drift as -if blown clear off his sled by the force of the explosion. - -To-day, as the Brownie sped over the soft snow, we could see how its -tracks in series of fours were made. At every jump the long hind-legs -thrust themselves far in front. They made the two far-apart tracks in -the snow, while the close-set fore-paws made the nearby tracks. -Accordingly a rabbit is always traveling in the direction of the -far-apart tracks, quite contrary to what most of us would suppose. - -It is the same way with celestial rabbits. Look any clear winter night -down below the belt of Orion, and you will see a great rabbit-track in -the sky--the constellation of Lepus, the Hare, whose track leads away -from the Great Dog with baleful Sirius gleaming green in his fell jaw. - -From the rabbit-meadow we followed devious paths down through Fern -Valley, which in summertime is a green mass of cinnamon fern, -interrupted fern, Christmas fern, brake, regal fern, and half a score -of others. In the midst of the marsh were rows of the fruit-stems of -the sensitive fern, which is the first to blacken before the frost. -These were heavy with rich wine-brown seed-pods, filled with seeds -like fine dust. They had an oily, nutty taste; and it would seem as if -some hungry mouse or bird would find them good eating during famine -times. Yet so far as I have observed they are never fed upon. - -Along the side of the path were thickets of spice-bush, whose crushed -leaves in summer have an incense sweeter than burns in any censer of -man's making. To-day I broke one of the brittle branches, to nibble -the perfumed bark, and found at the end of a twig, pretending to be a -withered leaf, a cocoon of the prometheus moth. The leaf had been -folded together, lined with spun silk, and lashed so strongly that the -twig would break before the silken cable. - -We passed through a clump of staghorn sumac with branches like -antlers, bearing at their ends heavy masses of fruit-clusters made up -of hundreds of dark, velvety crimson berries, each containing a brown -seed. The pulp of these berries is intensely sour, its flavor giving -the sumac its other name of "vinegar plant." These red clusters -crushed in sweetened water make a very good imitation of the red -circus-lemonade of our childhood. The staghorn is not to be confounded -with its treacherous sister, the poison sumac, with her corpse-colored -berries. She is a vitriol-thrower, and with her death-pale bark and -arsenic-green leaves, always makes me think of one of those haggard, -horrible women of the Terror. - -It was in Fern Valley that the Botanist made his discovery for the -day. It was only a tree, and moreover a tree that he must have passed -many times before. Only to-day, however, did it catch his eye. The -bark was that of an oak, but the leaves, which clung thick and brown -to the limb, were long, with a straight edge something like the leaves -of the willow-oak, only broader and larger. It was no other than the -laurel-oak, a tree which by all rights belonged hundreds of miles to -the south of us. - -He walked gloatingly around his discovery, and it was some time before -I could drag him on. Thereafter he gave me a masterly discourse, some -forty minutes in duration, on the life-history of the oaks, and -propounded several ingenious theories to account for the presence of -this strange species. This discourse continued until we reached the -historic white oak near the end of the valley, where the Botanist once -found a flock of bay-breasted warblers in the middle of a rainstorm; -and again I heard the story of that day. - -Through the valley flowed a little stream, and the snow along its -banks told of the goings and comings of the wild-folk. Gray squirrels, -red squirrels, muskrats, rabbits, mice, foxes, weasels, all had passed -and repassed along these banks. - -To me the most interesting trail was that of a blarina shrew. His -track in the snow is a strange one. It is a round, tunnel-like trail, -like that of some large caterpillar, with the trough made by the -wallowing little body filled with tiny alternate tracks--one of the -strangest of all the winter trails. - -I could obtain very little enthusiasm from the Botanist over blarinas. -He still babbled of laurel-leafed oaks and similar frivolities. Even -the crowning event of the walk left him cold. It came on the -home-stretch. We were passing through the last pasture before reaching -the humdrum turnpike which led to the tame-folk. Suddenly in the snow -I saw a strange trail. It was evidently made by a jumper, but not one -whose track I knew. I followed it, until among the leaves in a bank -something moved. Before my astonished eyes hopped falteringly, but -bravely, a speckled toad. - -The winter sun shone palely on his brown back still crusted with -the earth of his chill home. Down under the leaves and the frozen -ground he had heard the call, and struggled to the surface, expecting -to find spring awaiting him. Two jumps, however, had landed him in a -snowbank. It was a disillusion, and Mr. Toad winked his mild brown -eyes piteously. He struggled bravely to get out, but every jump -plunged him deeper into the snow. His movements became feebler as the -little warmth his cold blood contained oozed out. - -[Illustration: FLYER, THE SQUIRREL] - -Just as he was settling despairingly back into the crystallized cold, -I rescued him. He was too far gone even to move, for cold spells quick -death to the reptile folk. Only his blinking beautiful eyes, like -lignite flecked with gold, and the slow throbbing of his mottled -breast, showed that life was still in him. He nestled close in my -hand, willing to occupy it until warm weather. - -I back-tracked him from his faltering efforts, and where his first -lusty jump showed on the thawing ground I found his hibernaculum. It -was only a little hollow, scarcely three inches deep, under sodden -leaves and wet earth, and cheerless enough, according to mammalian -ideas. It was evidently home for Mr. Toad, and when I set him therein, -he scrambled relievedly under some of the loose wet leaves which had -fallen back into his nest. I piled a generous measure of dripping -leaves and moist earth over his warted back. It may have been -imagination, but I fancied that the last look I had from his bright -eyes was one of gratitude. The Botanist scoffed at the idea, for -toads, like pine-snakes, convey absolutely no appeal to his narrow, -flower-bound nature. - -I have erected a monument in the shape of a chestnut stake beside Mr. -Toad's winter residence, and I strongly suspect that he will be the -last of his family to get up when the spring rising-bell finally -rings. - -"There's positively nothing to this early-rising business," I can hear -him telling his friends at the Puddle Club in April. "Look at what -happened to me. If it hadn't been for a well-meaning giant, I would -have caught my death of cold from getting out of bed too soon. Never -again!" - -Our calendar-makers use red letters to mark special days. Personally, -I prefer orchids and birds and sunrises and nests and snakes and -similar markers. I have in my diary "The Day of the Prothonotary -Warbler," "The Day of the Henslow's Sparrow's Nest" (that was a day!), -"The Day of the Fringed Gentian," and many, many others. But always -and forever that snowy 21st of December is marked in my memory as "The -Day of the Early Toad." - -Once more I was climbing the Cobble. The wood-road on which I started -had narrowed to a path. Overhead masses of rock showed through the -snow, and above them were the dark depths of the Bear-Hole where -Great-great-uncle Jake had once shot with his flintlock musket the -largest bear ever killed in that part of the state. It was here at the -cliff side that Shahrazad snow told me another story. - -Along the edge of the slope ran a track made up of four holes in the -snow. The front ones were far apart and the back ones near apart. -Occasionally, instead of four holes, five would show in the snow, and -the position of the marks was reversed. A little farther on, and the -trail changed. The two near-apart tracks were now in a perpendicular -line instead of side by side. To Chingachgook, or Deerslayer, or -Daniel Boone, or any other well-known tracker, the trail would have, -of course, been an open book. But it had taken an amateur trailer like -myself some years to be able to read that snow record aright. The -trail was that of a cottontail rabbit. At first he had been hopping -contentedly along, with an eye open for anything eatable in the line -of winter vegetables. The far-apart tracks were the paw-marks of the -big hind-legs, which came in front of the marks made by the fore-paws -as they touched the ground at every hop. The five marks were where he -had sat down to look around. The fifth mark was the mark of his stubby -tail, and when he stopped, the little fore-paws made the near-apart -marks in front of the far-apart marks of his hind-feet, instead of -behind them as when he hopped. - -Suddenly the rabbit detected something alarming coming from behind, -for the sedate hops changed into startled bounds. A little farther on -the trail said that the rabbit had caught sight of its pursuer as it -ran; for a rabbit by the position of its eyes sees backward and -forward equally well. The tracks showed a frantic burst of speed. In -an effort to get every possible bit of leverage, the fore-legs were -twisted so that they struck the ground one behind the other, which -accounted for the last set of marks perpendicular to those in front. A -line of tracks which came from a pile of stones, and paralleled the -rabbit's trail, told the whole story. The paw-marks were small and -dainty, but beyond each pad-print were the marks of fierce claws. No -wonder the rabbit ran wild when it first scented its enemy, and then -saw its long slim body bounding along behind, white as snow except for -the black tip of its tail. - -It was the weasel, whose long body moves like the uncoiling of a steel -spring. A weasel running looks like a gigantic inch-worm that bounds -instead of crawls. Speed, however, is not what the little white killer -depends on for its prey. It can follow a trail by scent better than -any hound, climb trees nearly as well as a squirrel; and if the animal -it is chasing goes into a burrow, it has gone to certain death. The -rabbit's only chance would have been a straight-away run at full speed -for miles and hours. In this way it could probably have tired out the -weasel, which is a killer, not a runner, by profession. A rabbit, -however, like the fox, never runs straight. Round and round in great -circles it runs about its feeding-ground, of which it knows all the -paths and runways and burrows. Against a dog or fox these are safer -tactics than exploring new territory. Against a weasel they are -usually fatal. - -It was easy to see on the snow what had happened. At first, when the -rabbit saw the weasel looping along its trail like a hunting snake, it -had started off with a sprint that in a minute carried it out of -sight. Then a strange thing happened. Although a rabbit can run for -an hour at nearly top speed, and in this case had every reason to run, -after a half-mile of rapid circling and doubling, the trail changed -and showed that the rabbit was plodding along as if paralyzed. - -One of the weird and unexplained facts in nature is the strange power -that a weasel appears to have over all the smaller animals. Many of -them simply give up and wait for death when they find that a weasel is -on their trail. A red squirrel, which could easily escape through the -tree-tops, sometimes becomes almost hysterical with fright, and has -been known to fall out of a tree-top in a perfect ecstasy of terror. -Even the rat, which is a cynical, practical animal, with no nerves, -and a bitter, brave fighter when fight it must, loses its head when up -against a weasel. A friend of mine once saw a grim, gray old fellow -run squealing aloud across a road from a woodpile and plunge into a -stone wall. A moment later a weasel in its reddish summer coat came -sniffing along the rat's trail and passed within a yard of him. - -This night the rabbit, with every chance for escape, began to run -slowly and heavily, as if in a nightmare, watching the while its back -trail. And when the weasel came in sight again, the trail stopped as -the rabbit crouched in the snow waiting for the end. It came -mercifully quick. When the weasel saw the rabbit had stopped, its red -eyes flamed, and with a flashing spring its teeth and claws were at -poor bunny's throat. There was a plaintive whinnying cry, and the -reddened snow told the rest. - -So the last story of the snow ended in tragedy, as do nearly all true -stories of the wild-folk. Yet they need not our pity. Better a -thousand times the quick passing at the end of a swift run or of a -brave fight, than the long, long weariness of pain and sickness by -which we humans so often claim our immortality. - - - - -IV - -A RUNAWAY DAY - - -It is a wise man who knows when to run away. To quote rightly the -words of a great poet, whose name has escaped me:-- - - He who works and runs away - May live to work another day. - -So it was that, like Christian of old, I suddenly decided to escape -for my life from my city. - -There were many reasons. It was a holiday. Then the sun rose on one of -the most perfect days that ever dawned since the calendar was -invented. Furthermore, there was the thought of a little cabin hidden -in the heart of the pine barrens. So I ran away through snow-covered -meadows and silent woods and past farmhouses that were old when this -republic was first born, until my law offices and the city and the -noise and the dust and the smoke were all behind the horizon. - -An hour later I was following a little path that zigzagged back and -forth through thickets of scrub oak and stiff rows of pitch pines. -Above the trees was the rush of wings. The upper air was filled with -the victorious sound of going that heartened David from the tops of -the mulberry trees in that dread valley of Rephaim. Perhaps it was the -wind; but why did not the tree-tops sway instead of standing in -frozen rows? The sky above was the color of the eggs of the wood -thrush, a tender blue faintly washed with white. As the sun rose -higher and higher, the color deepened to that bluest of blues which -burns in May under the breast of the brooding catbird. Filtered -through frost, the sunlight shone, intensely bright but without heat. -The air was full of the spicery of a million pine trees. With every -breath it went tingling through my blood, carrying with it the joy of -the open and the freedom of the barrens. - -At last I came to the cabin. It is set on the very edge of the -brownest, crookedest, sweetest stream in the world--the cedar-stained -Rancocas. The wide porch overhangs the water, and over the doorway is -a tiny horseshoe, which was dug out of the bog at Upper Mill, -undoubtedly cast by some fairy steed. One whole side of the cabin is -taken up by an arched fireplace built of brown and yellow and red -sandstone, the only stone that can be found in the Barrens. Squat and -curly, two massive andirons, hammered out of bog iron, stand among the -ashes. They have a story all their own. - -Five miles through the woods is Upper Mill, which is not a mill at -all, but marks the place where, a century ago, one stood. The only -occupied house there is a log cabin built of imperishable white-cedar -logs in 1720, the date still showing on one of the logs. Charlie -Rogers lives there alone. It used to be an old tavern on the -cattle-road from Perth Amboy. Every now and then Charlie finds old -coins, King George III pennies and farthings, and the rare New Jersey -pennies which were coined only during two years, and which bear a -plough and the old name of New Jersey--Nova Cęsarea. One day, when I -was gossiping with Charlie, I told him that, if he took up the old -dirt floor and sifted it through an ash-sifter during the long winter -evenings, he might find a further store of rare coins. He took my -advice, and the first treasure he uncovered was these andirons buried -where once had been a hearth. Charlie gave them to me, and they hold -up logs now as well as they did two hundred years ago. - -As I slipped into a well-worn suit of khaki, all the worry of the -month fell off my shoulders and rolled down the bank and was drowned -in the golden water. Tucking a pair of field-glasses into one pocket -and a package of lunch into the other, I started off on an exploring -trip. In the barrens everywhere are paths that wind for miles in and -out among the trees and along the edges of brooks and bogs. Who made -them? Who keeps them open? No one knows. I have been able to follow a -few of them out to the end. One leads to Ong's Hat, a little clearing -in the heart of the woods, where grows an enormous white-oak tree. A -century and a half ago Ong, the Indian, lived there. One day he -disappeared. Nothing was ever found except his blood-stained hat. Then -there is the path that leads to Sheep-Pen Hill, where seven empty -houses and a well stand deserted and alone. Others lead to Gum Sprung, -which, being translated, means Gum-Tree Cove, and to Double Trouble -and Mount Misery, where the rattlesnake den is, and Apple-Pie Hill, -and Friendship, and a host of other places that I have not explored. - -To-day I walked for miles and miles through stretches of low, gleaming -pines and past pools set in golden sphagnum moss. The wind had died -down, and the silence seeped in and carried with it the comfort of the -wilderness. The first friend I met was a little bird that dived like a -mouse into a pile of brush. I saw a brook, and hurried to it, knowing -that if the bird were a winter wren it could not possibly keep from -running along the edges of that brook. Sure enough, in a minute I saw -it darting in and out of holes and with cocked tail curtsying on the -stones. It is the next to the smallest of our five wrens--only the -rare short-billed marsh wren is tinier. - -To-day all through the tree-tops I heard the high-pitched tiny notes -of that tiny bird, the golden-crowned kinglet. Its forked tail, -striped head, and wing-bars are the field-marks by which it can be -told in spite of its quick movements. It is the third smallest of all -our birds: only the hummingbird and the short-billed marsh wren are -smaller. Beyond the kinglet I heard the clicking alarm-notes and saw a -flutter of the white skirts of a junco as it flew up ahead of me, -showing its white tail-feathers, while in the woods a silver-and-blue -bird sprang out of the bushes, for a wonder without a sound. It was -the blue jay, which scolds and squalls all day long. Overhead, in -spite of the bitter cold, the grim black buzzards, with their fringed -wings and black-and-gray undersides, wheeled in the air, while the -smaller crow flapped laboriously beneath them. - -Near a stream I came upon a patch of the rare climbing fern, an -evergreen fern which climbs like a vine and has flat, veined leaves -that look like little green hands with four and five fingers. The stem -is like drawn copper wire. Beyond the fern I met the pale-gray poison -sumac, with its corpse-colored berries growing out from the sides of -the twigs instead of from the end, as do the berries of the harmless -varieties. - -I followed Pond-Lily Path through the white sand that in the -springtime is all golden with barrens-heather. It winds in and out -through the scattered clumps of low pitch pine and thickets of scrub -oak, and finally leads to a still brook all afloat in midsummer with -pond lilies. When the path reached the bogs, which to-day were frozen -solid, I turned in, crossing them on the snow-covered ice. Everywhere -were lines of four-toed crow tracks, and here and there were rabbit -trails, a series of four round holes in the snow. - -The next morning, when I followed my own tracks, I found that for more -than a mile I had been trailed by some animal making a series of -little paw-prints like those of a small cat, except that they were -close together and sometimes doubled, showing where the animal had -given sudden bounds. It was none other than the trail of a weasel, -probably the long-tailed variety, although that is rare in the -barrens. Like others of his family, this animal oftens follows a -man's tracks for a long distance, perhaps out of curiosity, perhaps in -the hope of finding food. As I looked at the trail of this little -killer, I was glad that he was not larger. If weasels, or those other -killers, the shrews, were as large as a dog, no man's life would be -safe out of doors. - -I explored so far that the sun had set before I turned back for the -cabin. Suddenly, from far over where the tree-trunks were inked black -against the golden afterglow, I heard a hoot, deep rather than loud. -"_Hoo, hoo-hoo, hoo, hoo!_" it went, and sometimes, "_Hoo-hoo-hoo!_" -Usually, though, the second note was doubled. It meant that the great -horned owl with its speckled gray back and white collar was hunting -rabbits through the silent woods. If it had been the barred owl, the -third note would have been doubled and the last note would have had a -drop in its cadence. - -In the frosty twilight I hurried along the winding path, back to the -cabin and a long, dreamy evening before the roaring fire. First came a -wonderful exhibition of free-hand cooking. Then I piled the great -fireplace well up the chimney with masses of pitch-pine knots and -stumps that I had dug up in the dry bogs. All of the sapwood had -decayed, leaving nothing except the resinous bones of the fallen -trees. They burned at the touch of a match, with a red smoky flame. -Above them I banked dry lengths of swamp maple and post oak. Then, -drawing up a vast rocker well within the circle of the heat, I settled -down to read and dream in front of the red coals. - -[Illustration: THE LONG-TAILED WEASEL] - -There is nothing in life sweeter than a little loneliness. Nowadays we -live and die in crowds, like ants and bees, so that solitude is likely -to become one of the lost arts. No book ever tastes so well as before -a great fire in the heart of a wilderness, even if the wilderness be -only a few miles away. In my cabin I keep a special shelf of the books -which I have always wanted to read, and for which in some way I never -find time in the hurry of everyday life. That evening I sat for long -over the Saga of Burnt Njal, and read again of the bill of Gunnar and -the grim axe, the "ogress of war," of Skarphedinn and the sword of the -dauntless Kari. In the flickering firelight I pictured the death-fight -of Gunnar of Lithend, one of the four great fights of one man against -a multitude in history, and heard again Hallgarda, the fair and the -false, forsake him to his death. - -"Give me two locks of thy hair," said Gunnar to Hallgarda, when that -his bow-string was cut in twain; "and ye two, my mother and thou, -twist them together into a bow-string for me." - -"Does aught lie on it?" she says. - -"My life lies on it," he said. - -"I will not do it," said Hallgarda; "for know ye now that I never -cared a whit for thee." - -At last it was time to go to bed. I went out to get a drink of the -most wonderful water in the world. Near the cabin a little bog was -frozen over a foot deep with white bubbled ice. In one place a round, -black hole had betrayed the secret spring that flooded the whole -swale. In the coldest weather this spring-hole remains unfrozen. I -dipped up a pitcherful of the soft, spicy cedar-water pulsing from the -very heart of the marsh. The Pinies have a saying that he who drinks -cedar-water will always come back to the barrens, no matter how far -afield he may wander. - -As I came to the porch-steps, in the dark stream just below me I saw a -strange thing. Underneath the water a ball of fire flashed down the -stream and disappeared around the bend. For a long time I tried to -puzzle out what it could be. There was no form of aquatic -phosphorescent life that would swim through a northern stream in the -depths of winter. It was only when I started to tell the time by the -sky clock that the mystery was solved. I was looking at the star Caph -in Cassiopeia, which is the hour-hand of the clock, when suddenly a -meteor flashed down the sky, and I realized that my submarine of a few -moments before had been only the reflection of another shooting star. - -As I stopped on the porch with my pitcher, the open door made a long -lane of light. Just across the creek, not fifty feet away, sounded a -crash in the brush, and there in the spotlight, held by the glare, -stood a big buck. For a moment I looked right into his beautiful, -liquid, gleaming eyes. Then, with a snort, he plunged into the woods -and was gone. For years I had tramped through the barrens and had -found the tracks of the deer that still live not thirty miles from the -third largest city in America, but until that night I had never seen -one. - -It grew colder and colder, and the little cabin snapped and cracked -with the frost. Banking up the fireplace with logs, I pulled my bed up -into the circle of heat, and fell asleep to the flickering of the fire -and the croon of the wind among the pine trees outside. Through the -window I could see the winter sky ablaze with stars, while the late -moon shone like a bowl of frozen gold through the black tree-trunks. - -The next morning I had to leave on the nine-o'clock train; and so I -rose early and after breakfast took a last walk down to Lower Mill and -back, to see if I could add any more winter birds to my list. It was a -cold, clear, snapping winter morning, and as the sun came up through -the pine trees I met first one and then another of the bird-folk -abroad after their breakfasts. First I heard the "Pip, pip!" of the -downy woodpecker, all black and white, with a bloodstain at the back -of his head. He is a tree-climber who can go up a tree head-foremost, -but must always back down. The nuthatches, with their white cheeks and -grunting notes, can go up and down a tree either head-first or -tail-first and the last of the tree-climbers, the brown creeper, -climbs up in a spiral, but has to fly down. - -Farther on, I heard the call of the big hairy woodpecker, which looks -almost like the downy except that he is nearly twice as large. He was -drilling a hole in the under side of a branch and sucking out -hibernating ants with his long, sticky trident tongue. Next came a -tree sparrow, with his white wing-bar and brown-red patch on the crown -of his head. He was busily scratching on the ground; he is called a -tree sparrow because never by any chance is he found in a tree. On the -side of a white-oak tree a bit of bark seemed to move upward in a -spiral, and I recognized the brown creeper, the last of the climbers. -He went up the tree in a series of tiny hops and then, true to his -training, flew down and started up again. - -As I turned the curve by Lower Mill, I saw in a thicket near the dam a -number of white-throated sparrows, with their striped white heads and -white throat-patches. Near them suddenly hopped a bird that ought to -have been far south. It was reddish brown with a long tail, and I -recognized the female chewink. She hopped around and scratched among -the leaves like a little hen, in true chewink style, as if the month -were April instead of January. - -I hurried around a bend in the road and heard over my head a series of -loud _pips_, much like the note of an English sparrow. I looked -up--and there was my great adventure. A little locust tree was filled -with a flock of plump, large birds. At first I thought that they were -cedar birds, but in a moment I caught sight of their coloring. Six of -the males out of the flock of seventy-four were in full plumage. Their -forked tails were velvet black. Their wings were the golden white of -old ivory, with a broad black edge, their heads grayish black, and -their breasts and backs a deep, rich gold; and, strangest of all, -their thick beaks were of a greenish-white color. - -It was a great moment. For the first time in my life I had met the -evening grosbeaks, and had found what afterwards proved to be the -largest flock ever reported of this rare bird of the far north so far -south. For a delightful hour I followed them. They were restless, but -not shy. Sometimes they alighted on the ground and then flew up all -together, like a flock of starlings. They looked like overgrown -goldfinches, just as the pine grosbeak looks like an overgrown purple -finch, and the blue grosbeak of the south for all the world like a -monstrous indigo bunting. As I followed them, suddenly I heard a sharp -_chip_, and to my delight there flashed into sight the crested -cardinal grosbeak, blood-red against the snow. For a moment the lithe, -nervous, flaming bird of the south met its squat, strong, stolid -cousin of the far north. - -I could come quite near without alarming them, and then suddenly they -would all fly away together to some other tree without any apparent -reason. Besides the sparrow-like note that I first heard, they had a -sort of trilling chirp. Once they all started like a flock of -goldfinches or grackles in a chirping chorus. When they flew, they -sometimes gave a single, clear flight-note, but never made a sound -when feeding on the ground. The birds had short, slightly forked -tails, and the yellow ring around the eye gave them, when seen in -profile, a curious spectacled appearance; while the huge beak and -short tail made them seem clumsy as compared with the other grosbeaks. -The plumage of the females showed mottled black-and-white wings and -greenish-yellow backs and breasts. The iris of the eye in both sexes -was red, the legs of a bluish-gray pink, and the feet of a -grayish-pink color. - -Later I found that the birds fed on the berries of the poison ivy, red -cedar, climbing bittersweet, and the buds and embryo needles of the -pitch pine, together with the seeds of the box elder. The favorite -food of the flock that I watched seemed always to be the pits of the -wild black cherry (_Prunus serotina_). They would take the pits well -out of sight back into their beaks, keeping their bills half open in a -comical manner, as if they had a bone in the throat. A second later -there would be a cracking noise and out would drop two nicely split -segments of the cherry pits, the meat having been swallowed. Sometimes -in the trees they would sidle along the limbs exactly as a parrot does -along its perch. - -The authorities state that the evening grosbeak has no immature -plumage, but passes after its first moulting immediately into full -plumage. I saw one, however, that I am sure was in immature plumage. -The back was yellowish instead of being gray, like the females', and -the wings were of a dirty white color instead of being mottled black -and white, like the plumage of the females, or half black and half -white, like the plumage of the males. Both sexes seemed to have the -same call and gave it equally often. - -The history of the evening grosbeak illustrates the far-reaching and -never-ending consequences of a falsehood. This bit of moralizing is -called forth because of the name of this sorely misdescribed bird. In -three languages, English, Greek and Latin, the myth is perpetuated -that the evening grosbeak, or _Hesperiphona vespertina_, -sings only at twilight. It all began in 1823, when one Major -Delafield, a boundary agent of the United States government, was -camping northwest of Lake Superior. There he met a flock of evening -grosbeaks in the twilight, and instantly jumped to the conclusion that -the birds were accustomed to spend the day in the dark recesses of -impassable swamps and come out and sing only at evening. - -As a matter of fact, the evening grosbeak goes to bed at dark, like -all other respectable, reputable birds. Its song is a wandering, jerky -warble that the singer himself recognizes as a miserable failure, for -he often stops and looks discontented and then remains silent for a -minute before trying again. It sounds like the early part of a -robin's song, but is always suddenly checked as if the performer -were out of breath. The guess of the imaginative major was later -elaborated by Prince Lucien Bonaparte, Nuttall, and even by later -ornithologists,--Coues among them,--not one of whom had ever seen or -heard the bird. Coues's description in his "Key to North American -Birds" is worth quoting as a specimen of the rhetoric in which a past -generation of ornithologists dared to indulge. - -"A bird of distinguished appearance, whose very name suggests the -far-away land of the dipping sun and the tuneful romance which the -wild bird throws around the close of day. Clothed in striking color -contrast of black, white and gold, he seems to represent the allegory -of diurnal transmutation, for his sable pinions close around the -brightness of his vesture, as night encompasses golden hues of sunset, -while the clear white space enfolded in these tints foretells the dawn -of the morrow." - -That morning I knew nothing of the history or the habits of this -unknown and misrepresented bird. All I knew was that for me the -twenty-ninth day of January, 1917, would be marked in my calendar -forever by a bird from the north, all dusky gold and velvet black and -ivory white--the Day of the Evening Grosbeak. - -At last the time came to leave them. As I started back for home, the -sun showed through the trees like a vast red coal, with a smoke of -clouds drifting across its face, and I traveled back to town in the -full glory of a clear winter morning, filled with the measureless -content of a great discovery. It was good to be alive and to look -forward to more work and to more glorious, adventure-filled runaway -days. - - - - -V - -THE RAVEN'S NEST - - -After all, the Rosicrucians were an ignorant lot. They spent their -days over alembics, cucurbits, and crucibles--yet they grew old. In -our days many men--and a few women--have discovered the Elixir of -Youth--but never indoors. The prescription is a simple one. Mix a -hobby with plenty of sky-air, shake well, and take twice a week. I -know a railroad official who retired when he was seventy. "He'll die -soon," observed his friends kindly. Instead, he began to collect -native orchids from all points of the compass. Now he is too busy -tramping over mountains and through woods and marshes even to think of -dying. Anyway, he would not have time until he has found the -ram's-head and the crane's-bill orchids and finished his monograph on -the _Habenaria_. He will never grow old. - -Neither will that other friend of mine who collects fresh-water -pearls, nor the one who makes me visit black-snake and rattlesnake -dens with him every spring, nor those others who spend their time in -collecting butterflies, beetles, wasps, and similar bric-a-brac. As -for those four abandoned oölogists who have hunted with me for years, -they will be young at a hundred. They rank high in their respective -callings. Yet from February, when the great horned owl begins its -nest, until the goldfinch lays her white eggs in July, the four spend -every holiday and vacation hunting birds' nests. - -Personally I collect only notes, out-of-door secrets, and little -everyday adventures. Bird-songs, flower-fields, and friendships with -the wild-folk mean far more to me than cabinets of pierced eggs, dried -flowers, stuffed birds, and tanned skins. Nor am I much of a hunter. -When it comes to slaughtering defenseless animals with high-powered -guns, I prefer a position in an abattoir. One can kill more animals in -a day, and with less exertion. Yet my collecting and sporting friends -make allowances for my vagaries and take me with them on their -journeyings. Wherefore it happened that in early March I received a -telegram. "Raven's nest located. Come if you are man enough." - -Now a middle-aged lawyer and the father of a family has no business -ravening along the icy and inaccessible cliffs which that gifted fowl -prefers for nursery purposes. I have, however, a maxim of Thoreau -which I furbish up for just such occasions. "A man sits as many risks -as he runs," wrote that wanderer in the woods. Accordingly the next -morning found me two hundred miles to the north, plodding through a -driving snow-storm toward Seven Mountains, with the first man in -recent years to find the nest of a northern raven in Pennsylvania. - -For fifteen freezing miles we clambered over and around three of the -seven. By the middle of the afternoon we reached a cliff hidden behind -thickets of rhododendron. In the meantime the snow had changed to a -lashing rain, probably the coldest that has ever fallen on the North -American continent. Ploughing through slush, the black rhododendron -stems twisted around us like wet rubber, and the hollow green leaves -funneled ice-water down our backs and into our ears. Breaking through -the last of the thickets, we at length reached a little brook which -ran along the foot of the cliff. A hundred feet above, out from the -middle of the cliff stretched a long tongue of rock. Over this the -cliff arched like a roof, with a space between which widened toward -the tip of the tongue. In a niche above this cleft a dark mass showed -dimly through the rain. - -"The nest!" muttered the Collector hoarsely, pouring a pint or so of -rain-water down my neck from his hat-brim as he bent toward me. I -stared with all my eyes, at last one of the chosen few to see the nest -of a Pennsylvania raven. It was made of large sticks. The fresh broken -ends and the droppings on the cliff-side showed that it was a recent -one. There were no signs of either of the birds. We solemnly removed -our coats and sweaters and prepared for the worst. To me the cliff -looked much like the Matterhorn, only slipperier. The Collector, -however, was most reassuring. He told me that the going looked worse -than it really was, and that, anyway, if I did fall, death would be so -nearly instantaneous as to involve little if any suffering. - -Thus encouraged, I followed him gruntingly up a path which had -evidently been made by a chamois or an ibex. At last I found myself -perched on a shelf of stone about the width of my hand. The Collector, -who was above me on an even smaller foothold, took this opportunity to -tell me that the rare Allegheny cave-rat was found on this cliff, and -nearly fell off his perch trying to point out to me a crevice where he -had once seen the mass of sticks, stones, leaves, feathers, and bones -with which these versatile animals barricade their passage-ways. I -refused to turn my head. That day I was risking my life for ravens, -not rats. Above us was the long, rough tongue of rock. Below us, a far -hundred feet, the brook wound its way through snow-covered boulders. - -Again the Collector led the way. Hooking both arms over the tongue of -rock above him, he drew himself up until his chest rested on the edge, -and then, sliding toward the precipice, managed to wriggle up in some -miraculous way without slipping off. From the top of the tongue he -clambered up to the niche where the nest was, calling down to me to -follow. Accordingly I left my shelf and hung sprawlingly on the -tongue; but there was no room to push my way up between it and the -rock-roof above. - -"Throw your legs straight out," counseled the Collector from above, -"and let yourself slide." - -I tried conscientiously, but it was impossible. My sedentary, -unadventurous legs simply would not whirl out into space. At last, -under the jeers of my friend, I shut my eyes and, kicking out -mightily, found myself sliding toward eternity. Just before I reached -it, under the Collector's bellowed instructions, I thrust my left arm -up as far as I could, and found a hand-hold on the slippery rock. -After getting my breath, I managed to wriggle up through the crevice -and lay safe on the top of the tongue. The niche above was not large -enough for us both, so the Collector came down while I took his place. -I was lashed by a freezing rain, my numb hands were cut and bleeding, -and there were ten weary miles still ahead. Yet that moment was worth -all that it cost. There is an indescribable fascination and triumph in -sharing a secret with the wild-folk, which can be understood only by -the initiate. The living naturalists who had looked into the home of -the Northern raven in Pennsylvania could be counted on the thumb and -first three fingers of one hand. At last the little finger belonged to -me. - -The deep cup of the nest was about one foot in diameter and over a -yard across on the outside. It was firmly anchored on the shelf of -rock, the structure being built into the crevices and made entirely of -dead oak branches, some of them fully three quarters of an inch in -diameter. It looked from a distance like an enormous crow's nest. The -cup itself was some six inches deep, and lined with red and white -deer-hair and some long black hairs which were probably those of a -skunk. Inside, it had a little damp green moss; while the rim was made -of green birch twigs bruised and hackled by the beaks of the builders. -On this day, March 9, 1918, there were no eggs, although in a previous -year the Collector had found two as early as February 25, when the -cliffs were covered with snow; and on March 5, of another year he -collected a full set of five fresh eggs, which I afterwards examined -in his collection. The birds had built a nest the year before, without -laying. This fact, with the absence of eggs this year, convinced the -Collector that the birds were sterile from age. During the last years -of their long life, which is supposed to approach a century, a pair of -ravens will sometimes build, with pathetic pains, nest after nest -which are never occupied by eggs. The Collector promised to show me a -set, however, the next day in another nest. - -At last it was time to start down. The Collector, who was waiting on -his shelf, warned me that the descent was more difficult than the -climb which I had just lived through, as it was necessary to slide -some six feet backwards to the shelf from which we started. As I -looked down the cliff-side I decided to remain with the ravens. It was -not until the Collector promised most solemnly to catch me, that I at -last let go and found myself back on the shelf with him. Then came -another wonderful moment. "Crrruck, crrruck, crrruck," sounded -hoarsely from the valley below--a note like that of a deep-voiced crow -with a bad cold. - -"Hurry!" urged the Collector; "it's one of the old birds coming back." - -I claim to have hurried as much as any man of my age could be expected -to do, but by the time I had reached the path the wary raven had -disappeared. I clambered down the cliff while the Collector -reproached me for my senile slowness. We stopped to rest at the foot, -and I was just telling him that the Cornishmen hate the raven because -to their ears he always cries "Corpse, corpse!" when suddenly the bird -itself came back again. It flew across the valley and alighted on a -tree-top by the opposite cliff, looking like a monster crow, being -about one-third longer. One might mistake a crow for a raven, but -never a raven for a crow. If there be any doubt about the bird, it is -always safe to set it down as a crow. - -The flight of the raven, which consisted of two flaps and a soar, and -its long tail resembling that of an enormous grackle, were its most -evident field-marks. - -For long we sat and watched the wary birds, until, chilled through by -the driving rain, we started to cover the ten miles that lay between -us and the house of Squire McMahon, a mountain friend of the -Collector, where we planned to pass the night. On the way the -Collector told me that he saw his first raven while wandering through -the mountains in the spring of 1909, and how he trailed and hunted and -watched until, in 1910, he found the first nest. Since then he had -found twelve. His system was a simple one. Selecting from a gazetteer -a list of mountain villages with wild names, such as Bear Creek, -Paddy's Mountain, and Panther Run, he would write to the postmasters -for the names of noted hunters and woodsmen. From them he would secure -more or less accurate information about the haunts of ravens, which -usually frequent only the loneliest and most inaccessible parts of the -mountains. - -The trail led through deep forests and up and across mountains, and -was so covered with ice and snow as to be difficult going. At one -point the Collector showed me a place where he had been walking years -ago, when he suddenly became conscious that he was being followed by -something or somebody. At a point where the trail doubled on itself, -he ran back swiftly and silently, just in time to see a -bay-lynx--which had been trailing him, as those big cats sometimes -will--dive into a nearby thicket. Anon he cheered the way with snake -stories, for Seven Mountains in summer swarm with rattlesnakes and -copperheads. - -By the time he had finished it was dark, and I thought with a great -longing of food and fire--especially fire. It did not seem possible to -be so cold and still live. In the very nick of time, for me at least, -we caught sight of the lamplight streaming from the windows of the -Squire's house. Dripping, chilled, tired, and starving, we burst into -Mrs. McMahon's immaculate kitchen and were treated by the old couple -like a pair of long-lost sons. In less than two minutes our -waterlogged shoes were off, our wet coats and sogged sweaters spread -out to dry, and we sat huddled over a glowing stove while Mrs. McMahon -fried fish, made griddle-cakes, and brewed hot tea simultaneously and -with a swiftness that just saved two lives. We ate and ate and ate and -ate, and then, in a huge feather-bed, we slept and slept and slept -and slept. Long after I have forgotten the difference between a tort -and a contract, and whether A. Edward Newton or Marie Corelli wrote -the "Amenities," that dinner and that sleep will stand out in my -memory. - -The next morning we started off again in a driving snowstorm, to look -at another nest some ten miles farther on. The first bird we met was a -prairie horned lark flying over the valley, with its curious tossing, -mounting flight, like a bunch of thistle-down. It differs from the -more common horned, or shore, lark by having a white instead of a -yellow throat and eye-line; and it nests in the mountain meadows in -upper Pennsylvania, while its larger brother breeds in the far north. - -Noon found us at a deer camp. Through the uncurtained windows we could -see the mounted body of a golden eagle, which, after stalking and -destroying one by one a whole flock of wild turkeys, had come to an -ignoble end while gorged on the carcass of a dead deer. The man who -captured it by throwing his coat over its head thought at first that -it was a turkey buzzard, which southern bird, curiously enough, finds -its way through the valleys up into these northern mountains. In fact, -the Collector once found a buzzard's nest just across a ravine from -the nest of a raven. Beyond the camp, on the other side of a rushing -torrent, we found another raven's nest swaying in the gale, in the -very top of a slender forty-foot white pine, the only raven's nest the -Collector had ever found in a tree. It was deserted, and we reached -home late that night with frost-bitten faces and ears, and without a -sight of the eggs of the northern raven. - -The next day we took a train, and traveled forty miles down the river -to where, on a cliff overhanging the water, a pair of ravens had -nested for the last fifty years. There we found numerous old nests, -but never a trace of any that were fresh. There too we found a -magnificent wild turkey hanging dead in a little apple tree; it had -come to a miserable end by catching the toes of one foot in between -two twigs in such a way that it could not release itself. The bright -red color of its legs distinguished it from a tame turkey. The -Collector confided to me that the ambition of his life was to find the -nest of a wild turkey, which is the rarest of all Pennsylvania nests. -Next to it from a collecting standpoint come the nests of the Northern -raven, pileated woodpecker, and Blackburnian warbler, in the order -named. - - * * * * * - -March 12, 1919, found me again on a raven hunt with the Collector. -Before sunrise I was dropped from a sleeper at a little mountain -station set in a hill country full of broad fields, swift streams, and -leafless trees, flanked by dark belts of pines and hemlocks. Beyond -the hills was raven-land, lonely, wind-swept, full of lavender and -misty-purple mountains, with now and then a gap showing in their -ramparts. It was in these gaps that the ravens nested, always on the -north side, farthest from the sun. - -Nearby was Treaster's Valley, which old Dan Treaster won from a pack -of black wolves before the Revolution. When he lay a-dying, three -quarters of a century later, the wailing howl of a wolf-pack sounded -outside his cabin, although wolves had been gone from the Valley for -fifty years. Old Dan sat up with the death-sweat on his forehead and -grinned. "They've come to see me off," he whispered and fell back -dead. - -[Illustration: "THE YOUNG RAVENS SHALL NEITHER LACK NOR SUFFER -HUNGER"] - -They bred hunters in that Valley. Peter Penz, the Indian fighter, who -celebrated his ninetieth birthday by killing a red bear, came from -there. So did Jacob Quiggle, who killed a maned panther one winter -night, under the light of a wind-swept moon, with his famous gun, -Black Sam. Over on Panther's Run not ten miles away, lived Solomon -Miller, who shot the last wood-bison, and died at the age of -eighty-eight, clapping his hands and shouting the chorus of a -hunting-song. - -As the light began to show in the eastern sky, came the first -bird-notes of the day. The caw of a crow, a snatch of song-sparrow -melody, the chirp of a robin, the fluted alto note of a blue-bird, and -the squeal of a red-tailed hawk sounded before the sun came up. - -A change of trains, and I met the Collector, as enthusiastic as ever. -Already that year he had found six ravens' nests with eggs in them, -but the one he had promised to show me was the best of the lot. It was -located in Poe's Gap, where local tradition hath it that the poet -wooed, not unsuccessfully, a mountain girl, and wrote "The Raven" in -her cabin. On the way to the Gap we heard and saw nineteen different -kinds of birds, including siskin, fox sparrows, and killdeer, and saw -a buzzard sail on black-fringed wings over the peaks. On a farmer's -barn we saw a goshawk nailed, its blue-gray back and finely penciled -breast unmistakable, even after the winter storms. - -As we entered the Gap, patches of snow showed here and there, and a -mad mountain brook of foaming gray water came frothing and raging to -meet us. When we were full two hundred and fifty yards away from the -nest, the female raven flapped and soared away. The nest itself was -only thirty feet from the ground, on a shelf protected by a protruding -ledge, some ten feet down from the top of the cliffs. Rigging a rope -to a tree, I managed to swarm up and look at last on the eggs of a -Northern raven. They were three in number, a full clutch. The number -ranges from three to five, very rarely six, with one instance of -seven. The eggs themselves were half as large again as those of a -crow, and all different in coloration. One was light-blue-flecked and -speckled with brown and lavender; another heavily marked with lavender -and greenish-brown; while the last was of a solid greenish-brown -color. - -The nest itself faced the Gap, and from it one could look clear across -the forest to the settled country beyond, while behind the cliff -stretched a range of low, unexplored mountains. The nest itself was -made of smaller sticks than the one I had seen over at Seven -Mountains, and had a double lining of brown and white deer-hair, a -fresh lining having been laid over that of the year before. As we -climbed to the nest, the ravens soared near, giving only the hoarse -"Crrruck." They have also a soft love-note, which cannot be heard -fifty yards away and sounds something like the syllables -"Ga-gl-gl-gli." As they soared near us, their plumage shone like black -glass, and we could see the long tapered feathers of the neck swell -whenever either of them croaked. They had a peculiar trick of gliding -side by side and suddenly touching wings, overlapping each other for -an instant. While we watched them, a red-shouldered hawk unwarily -approached the Gap. In an instant, the male raven was upon him, and -there was a sharp fight. The Buteo was not to be driven away easily, -and made brave play with beak and talons; but he never had a chance. -The raven glided round and round him with wonderful speed and -smoothness, driving in blow after blow with his heavy, punishing beak, -until the hawk was glad to escape. - -For long and long I watched the dark, wise mysterious birds circle -through the blue sky. As I sat in their eyrie, I could look far, far -across the forests and the ranges of hills, to where the ploughed -fields began. Perhaps that poet whose heart-strings were a lute had -looked from that same raven-cliff before he went back to die among the -tame folk, and wished that he could stay in wild-folk land where he -belonged. - - - - -VI - -HIDDEN TREASURE - - -It cost me an appendix to become a treasure-hunter, but it was worth -the price. I really had very little use for that appendix anyway, -while my membership in the Order of Treasure-Hunters has brought me in -several million dollars' worth of health and happiness. - -It all began when I was sent from a city hospital to an old farmhouse -in the northwestern corner of Connecticut, with instructions to avoid -all but the most ladylike kind of exercise. Accordingly one morning I -found myself tottering feebly along a wood-road that led over Pond -Hill, highly resolved to walk to Hen's Pine and back. This was the -lone tree which stood on the crest of the wooded hill which, half a -century ago, old Hen, a freed slave, had begged from the -charcoal-burners when they coaled that region. Hen's old horse, Bill, -is buried at its foot, and Hen had hoped to lie there himself with his -axe, his fiddle, and his whip. Instead, he sleeps in a little -graveyard on a bare hill beside his old master. - -My path had just crossed a round green circle in the woods where an -old charcoal-pit had set its seal forever. Suddenly a brown bird flew -up from beside the road a few yards ahead of me. If she had kept -quiet, I never would have learned her secret. When, however, she came -back, flying from branch to branch with fluttering wings and jerking -tail, keeping up at the same time a rattle of alarm-notes like a tiny -machine-gun, even a novice like myself would suspect a nest. - -Fortunately a broken hazel bush marked the exact spot from which she -had flown. On going there, and looking carefully near its base, I -found what has always seemed to me one of the most beautifully hidden -nests of all the hundreds which I have seen since--perhaps because it -was my first rare nest. It was roofed in by the split hazel-branch, -and made of woven dry grass and leaves, with a scanty lining of -horse-hair and a flooring of leaf-fragments. Inside were five eggs. -Four of them were bluish-white, with aureoles of reddish-brown -blotches around the blunt ends; but the fifth was larger, and was -specked and splashed with blotches of rufous and brown-purple. Long -afterwards I learned that this last egg was the fatal gift of that -vampire the cow-bird, and that by leaving it there I had doomed the -four legitimate future birds of that nest to certain death. Sooner or -later the deadly changeling would hatch from that egg and roll its -foster-brothers out of the nest to starve. - -That day, however, I was ignorant even of the name of the bird whose -nest I had found. For long I stood and gloated like a miser over the -little jewel-casket which the mother-bird had shown me, and for the -first time realized that anywhere in the woods and fields I might -come upon other treasure-hordes of the same kind. Then and there I -became a treasure-hunter. Ever since then I leave my treasures where I -find them, so that my recollections of them may not be marred by any -memories of fluttering, mourning mother birds. Aside from any -sentimental reasons, it has always seemed to me that he who takes the -eggs which he has discovered is guilty of the economic error of -spending his principal. If left undisturbed, the nest will pay -dividends in the way of information and observations which are worth -more than the mere possession of the pierced and empty eggs. - -All the time that I was studying this nest both the parent birds were -moving around me in anxious circles. At times the mother bird would -drop her wings and scurry along just in front of me, pretending that -she was wounded nigh unto death and that, if I would but follow her -away from the nest, she could easily be caught. Both the birds had -brown backs and buff breasts and sides spotted with black, and -constantly tilted their tails and walked instead of hopping. As soon -as I came back to the farmhouse, I rummaged through colored charts and -bird-books until I had decided that the nest was that of a fox -sparrow, which also has a brown back and a spotted breast. It was not -until another year that I learned that the fox sparrow nests in the -far North and that the bird whose home I had discovered was none other -than the oven-bird--or golden-crowned accentor, to give him his more -sonorous title. This is the bird which comes in late April or early -May and sings all through the woods the best example of a crescendo -song in all bird-music. His nest on the ground usually has a domed -overhanging roof which makes it resemble an old-fashioned Dutch oven. - -In spite of my ignorance there followed the happiest week of my life. -I forgot that I was an invalid, as well as all the injunctions of my -doctor. From morning until night I hunted birds' nests. As usual -fortune favored the novice, and I found nests that first week which I -have found but few times since. - -The very next morning, on the other side of Pond Hill I turned a -sudden corner of the path through the dim green silence, and stepped -right into a breakfast-party. Mrs. Ruffed Grouse, known in that part -of the country as partridge, was breakfasting in the open path with at -least a dozen little grouse--or is it greese. Although taken by -surprise, neither she nor her children hesitated for the fraction of a -second. Falling upon the ground, she rolled and flapped as if in the -last agonies of death, whining like a puppy and dragging herself -almost to my feet. I looked away from the covey for a minute, to watch -the bird struggling and whining at my very feet. As I stretched my -hand out toward her, she feebly flopped away, still apparently well -within reach. I took a step or so after her, to see if she would -really permit herself to be caught. Suddenly realizing that she was -only decoying me away from her brood, I turned back. Although I had -gone less than six feet, and the little birds had been huddled -together close to me on the bare path, they had absolutely -disappeared. It seemed impossible that in a few seconds they could -have gained the shelter of the woods or could have found cover in the -scanty grass and scattered leaves close at hand. Not one could I find -although I searched and searched. When I turned back the mother grouse -was gone also, although I could hear her whining through the bushes. - -Years later, again at the edge of the woods, one day early in June, I -came upon another mother grouse leading a covey of little chicks, -evidently just hatched, in single file out from the woods into the -open, probably to catch grasshoppers. She went through the same -performance as the first one, but this time I selected the two nearest -chicks, which stood directly in front of me, and resolved that nothing -would make me take my eyes away from them. Even as I watched, they -melted away into the grass. One I found lying motionless on its side -under a big brown leaf, looking exactly like its covering. The other I -never did find. At first the leaf-hidden partridge refused to move -even when I touched it, until I picked it up. Then it gave a shrill -peep almost like a little chicken. Instantly the poor mother bird -rushed up to my very feet and dashed her wings frantically against my -legs, jumping up from the ground and whining so piteously that, after -I had stroked her fuzzy, soft little chick, I put it back on the -ground without any further examination. At once it disappeared, and -the mother bird, still whining, also sidled away into the woods. - -I hid behind an apple tree and waited nearly half an hour. At last -from the woods sounded a low "Cluck, cluck, cluck," and instantly nine -little partridge chicks, one by one, started up from the most -impossible hiding-places. It was like watching a resurrection. Some -came from under leaves, others out of clumps of grass, and two or -three rose from the almost bare ground, where they had lain in perfect -concealment. Falling into single file, they hurried like little ghosts -into the thicket, and the last I heard of that little family was a few -soft and very satisfied clucks from the hidden mother bird. - -During that golden week of treasure-hunting I found a number of common -nests which, although everyday affairs to an experienced -ornithologist, were then, as they are now, a source of never-ending -interest. There was the robin's nest partly made of wool, which I -found in a thorn-bush in the sheep-pasture, with its four long, -sky-blue eggs. Over in the woods, just back of the deserted house -where Nat Bunker, the Indian, used to weave wonderful baskets out of -maiden-hair stems, I found the nest of a wood thrush in a witch-hazel -about seven feet from the ground, by the simple process of running my -head against the bush while going through the thick undergrowth. This -accident bunted the mother thrush off the nest; and pulling the bush -down, I peered in and saw three light-blue eggs. - -If I had taken these eggs, as some bird's-nesters do, I never should -have had the experience of actually seeing a little wood thrush come -into the world. It was the last morning of my stay, and I had been -making my round of nests, examining each one and beginning the -bird-notes which I have kept up ever since. As I pulled the nest down -and looked at the three eggs, I suddenly saw a tiny black speck appear -out of the side of one. Then the shell cracked and split, and I -realized that what I had seen was the beak of the little bird within. -In a moment the crack spread, and finally, with a tremendous effort, -one half of the blue shell slid off and there in front of me, snugly -resting in the other half of the shell, was the naked baby-thrush, its -long neck curled down beside its round stomach. Raising its blind -head, it pressed against the confining shell, while its whole bare -body shook with the heart-throbs of a new life. I realized that before -my eyes this bare, blind bird was passing from one world into another; -and when the birth was finally accomplished and, free from the -prisoning shell, the little thrush lay panting on the bottom of the -soft nest, I turned away with a certain sense of uplift that I had -watched a fellow creature win a battle for a higher life. - -It was another wood thrush's nest that same week, in the deep of a -thicket, that gave me still another experience. The nest was in a tiny -bush much lower than I have ever found a wood thrush's nest since. -When the mother thrush left the nest, she wasted no time in idle -alarm-notes, but, circling around the bush, flew straight for my face. -I ducked, and she went over me, only to turn and come back; and if I -had not guarded myself by striking at her with my hands, I have no -manner of doubt that she would have struck me with her beak. - -In only one other instance in many years of bird's-nesting have I ever -been actually attacked by a nesting bird. Once in the twilight I had -found my first and last nest of a Kentucky warbler on the edge of a -wood. Taking a short cut through the trees, I was instantly assailed -by a pair of screech-owls, which flew directly at my face, snapping -their beaks and making little wailing notes. The light was so dim and -their flight so swift, that I actually ran out into the open, fearing -lest they might land with beak or claw on my eyes. - -It was on the third day that I found in a white-thorn bush the little -horse-hair nest of the chipping sparrow. This last summer, in the -depths of Northern Canada, while hunting for such rare nests as the -bay-breasted, the yellow-palm and the Tennessee warblers, I found the -same little horse-hair home of the chipping sparrow. I thought with -this my last, as I did with my first, that there are no eggs of -American birds more beautiful than those little blue, brown-flecked -eggs of the dear gentle little chippy. - -That same day, on the edge of the thick woods near the schoolhouse, I -found swinging from maple saplings, four and five feet from the -ground, the beautiful little woven baskets, thatched on the outside -with white birch-bark and lined within with pine-needles, of the -red-eyed vireo, with the black line through and the white line above -her red eye. In the vast, bare hardhack pasture on the slope of Pond -Hill, I watched a field sparrow fly down under a hardhack bush with a -bug in its beak. Hurrying there, I found on the ground, concealed by -the bush, her little nest of woven grass, with four little field -sparrows inside, whose gaping beaks kept both father and mother field -sparrow busy all day to fill them. As the parent birds flitted around -me, I could see plainly the pink beak which distinguishes the field -sparrow from all others of its family. Beside the brook, among the -cat-tails on the ground, I found the rough nest of the red-winged -blackbird, with its four eggs scrawled with strange black -hieroglyphics. - -The fourth day was another treasure-trove day. Just at dawn, in a -dew-drenched thicket of spirea, I found three nests not six feet -apart. In one, root-lined and thatched with strips of grape-vine bark, -glowed the four deep blue eggs of the cat bird. The next nest, -singularly deep and made of dried grass, was owned by a black-blue -indigo bunting who, in spite of his intense coloring, seemed content -with three washed-out white eggs and a light-brown wife. On the last -nest the bird was brooding, and showed the golden-crowned head and the -chestnut band along the side which has given its name to the -chestnut-sided warbler. The nest, a humble affair of grass and hair, -sheltered four wonderful eggs, pink-white, spotted at the largest end -with flecks of chocolate and lilac and umber. Back of the thickets -tottered an old, old house. For fifty years it had been leased to the -wild-folk. As I looked at it, one of them flitted out of the -cellar-way, a gray bird whose name-note was phoebe. Just within the -doorway, on an oak beam, I found her new-finished nest of fresh, -bright, green moss. - -All that morning I followed orchid-haunted paths through dim aisles of -high pine trees without finding a nest. When I gave up hunting for -them, they appeared. Toward noon I had put together a pocket rod and -was wading down the bed of a little brook, to catch a few trout for -lunch. In a little pool at the foot of a laurel bush, I landed a plump -jeweled fish. I cast again, and my hook caught a low hanging branch. I -gave the bough a shake, and from the foot of the bush a pale brown -bird stole out. A moment later I was looking at my first veery's nest. -It seemed strange to meet face to face this dweller in the dark woods. -Usually I had heard his weird harp-notes from the cool green depths of -the thicket, but with never a glimpse of the singer. To-day he sat on -a low branch within six feet, and I could plainly see the faintly -marked breast and the white spot under the beak which are the -field-marks of the veery, or Wilson's thrush. Both birds flittered -around me like ghosts, saying faintly, "Wheer! wheer! wheer!" The nest -was built just off the ground and lined with brown leaves, and held -four of the most vivid blue eggs owned by any of the bird-folk. The -eggs of the cat-bird are of a deeper blue, but the strange vivid -brightness of the veery's eggs makes all other blue eggs look faded by -contrast. - -All too soon my glorious week of treasure-hunting drew to a close. For -the last day were reserved the best two of my bird-adventures. During -the morning I had followed a wood-road which led through dark woods -into a marsh, and then up a wooded slope. I sat down to rest, and -suddenly saw a gray bird fly up into a tree, alight on a limb, and -before my eyes suddenly disappear. Bringing my field-glasses to bear, -I discovered saddled on that limb a lichen-covered nest, which looked -so exactly like the limb itself that, if the bird had not shown me her -home, I would never by any chance have discovered it. It was a far -climb for an invalid, but I felt that life was not worth living unless -I could have a closer look at this strange nest which had flashed into -sight right before my eyes. Gruntingly I clambered up the trunk, and -for the first time looked into the beautiful nest of the wood pewee. -It was lined with down and held four perfect eggs, pearly-white and -flecked with heavy brown and black spots. - -For a long time I sat perched aloft, rejoicing over every perfect -detail of that nest and the eggs, and studying the gentle, silent, -anxious parent birds, of a dark-brownish-gray with two white wing-bars -and whitish under-parts. I went back to lunch feeling that my last day -had been well spent. However, the best was yet to be. I realize from -later experiences in bird's nesting that all this has an impossible -sound, but I can only say that I am setting down the happenings of -this week of treasure-hunting exactly as they came, and as they appear -in the battered canvas-bound note-book in which I scrawled my -field-notes that summer. The Wild Folk had evidently decided to -celebrate my discovery of their world by granting me seven days of -nest-finding rarely vouchsafed even to veteran ornithologists. - -[Illustration: THE JEWEL-BOX OF THE WOOD PEWEE] - -It was at twilight, and I stood on the edge of an old orchard where -grew a white-oak tree. As I looked away across the valley, I heard a -humming noise, and through the dimming light saw a tiny bird buzzing -through the air just overhead. As I watched, she alighted on a long -limb about ten feet from the ground, and even an ignoramus like myself -could recognize the long curved beak of the hummingbird. This one had -a white instead of a crimson throat, which, I was to learn, marked the -female. For an instant the little bird perched on the limb just over -my head, and then suddenly sidled toward what seemed a tiny knot, but -was not. Lest I be betrayed into further puns unworthy the fair fame -of a bird-student, I hasten to add that I had found the nest of a -ruby-throated hummingbird. - -It was too dark that evening to examine it more closely, but by -sunrise the next morning I was on the spot with a step-ladder, and -with more delight than I have ever had in a nest since, looked down -into the tiny lichen-covered, cobweb-stitched, thistle-down-lined nest -of this smallest of all our birds. Within were two tiny white eggs. -The opening of the nest was just about the size of a quarter of a -dollar, and it did not seem possible that two little birds could later -be brooded and fed and reared in such a tiny cradle. The nest itself -was saddled on the limb, which was perhaps four inches in diameter. -It was so placed that the bottom of the nest did not rest directly on -the limb, but hung a little to one side, so that the future little -birds would rest in the swing of a hammock rather than on the hard -foundation of the branch itself. The nest was lashed to the limb with -strand after strand of cobwebs carried and wound around and around, -until the whole structure was firmly anchored by myriads of almost -invisible but tough little ropes. Inside, it was lined with the soft -yellowish-white fluffy fleece found inside milkweed pods. Next came a -layer of reddish-brown seed-husks, all bound and lashed together with -a network of cobwebs. On the outside was a layer of dull ashy-green -lichen-scales. Each minute separate fragment was fitted into a mosaic -which covered the whole nest. Outside of everything was another almost -invisible network of cobwebs, like the net of a balloon which holds -the round globe within. There must have been hundreds of gossamer -strands making up this network, all so fine that only by the closest -examination could they be seen. - -Every bird's nest is a miracle, but I don't know any that is such a -marvel of industry and ingenuity and beauty as that of the -ruby-throated bird. Later on, when Mrs. Hummingbird was through with -her home, I collected it, and had an opportunity of seeing just what -the building of that nest meant to her--for, sad to say, Mr. H. B. -never moves a claw to help in home-building. The labor of collecting -the spider-webs alone, to say nothing of the hundreds of lichen-flecks -and seed-husks, would seem to be almost impossible. On the outside of -the nest I counted over a hundred separate bits of lichen, and then -undoubtedly overlooked many; while in the next layer of seed-husks -there were probably at least three times as many. Bit by bit, flake by -flake, the little worker had gathered her material, and from it had -spun, and woven and built a nest which was not only soft and secure -for her little ones, but, when finished, was absolutely disguised. No -prowler on the ground or pirate of the air could tell that nest from a -lichen-covered knot, unless, as had been my fortune, the little mother -herself showed it to them. - -So endeth the tale of my first treasure-hunting. If you are not one of -us, don't let another summer go by without joining our Order. You will -find a wealth of happiness which no thief can steal nor misfortune -lose, and which, as the years go by, pays ever-increasing dividends of -joyous memories. - - - - -VII - -BIRD'S-NESTING - - -It is the best of all out-of-door sports bar none. The thrill of -hidden treasure, the lure of adventure, the joy of escape from in-door -days--all these are part of it. Try it of a May day, or before sunrise -some June morning. I have a friend who leads a double life. During -business hours he is the president of a bank. Outside of them he is -the most abandoned bird's-nester of my acquaintance. If his depositors -could see their president going up the side of a perpendicular -oak-tree with climbing-irons, to look at the dizzy home of a red-tail -hawk, or picking his way across bottomless bogs in search of the -bittern's nest, there would probably be a run on his bank. - -I know a woman seventy-two years young, who took up bird's-nesting in -order to help forget a great sorrow. While her contemporaries are -dozing their lives away in caps and easy-chairs, she is afield in all -sorts of weather, and sees more birds and finds more nests in a year -than the average woman meets in a lifetime. Incidentally she gets more -health and happiness out of life than any woman of her age whom I have -ever met. - -Another woman, in a little town in New Jersey, by the sudden death of -her husband was left alone with but little money and no friends. -Moreover, her doctor advised her that she had only a year at most to -live. One day she found the nest of a prairie warbler, that little -jewel-casket lined with fern-wool. It held four eggs like pink-flecked -pearls. The very next day she bought a bird-book, and forgot all about -herself, and spent the happiest months of her life hunting nests. At -the end of a year in the open, she notified her indignant physician -that she had become too much interested in her hobby to confirm his -diagnosis. To-day she supports herself happily by writing about what -she sees and hears among the wild-folk. - -The moral of all this is, go bird's-nesting. This past summer, -practising what I preach, I spent all my spare holidays in May, June, -and July hunting rare nests. Let me say in preface that I collect only -with a note-book and a camera. Personally, I prefer to have memories -and notes and pictures of my bird's-nests rather than cabinets full of -pierced and empty eggs; for I believe that a human who visits his -brethren of the air as their friend will find out more about them than -he who follows them about like a weasel, only to rob their nests. - -The first of my bird-holidays was on May 20th. Four of us were to meet -at Mount Pocono, the highest mountain in Pennsylvania, on a hunt for -the rare nest of that tiny bird, the golden-crowned kinglet. Late that -evening we reached the camp near the top of the mountain, where we -were to make our headquarters. Up there the weather had harked back -to March, and the water froze on the porch that night. We pooled our -blankets and curled up together for warmth. - -At one A.M. a whip-poor-will began his loud night-song. He always -sings as if he were wound up, and in a great hurry to finish his song -before the mechanism runs down. Later, in the darkness, we heard the -drumming like distant thunder of the ruffed grouse. One of our party -claims that on this mountain the grouse always drum at four-thirty in -the morning; and his stock as an accurate ornithologist went above par -when we examined our watches and found that it was just half-past -four. As the darkness turned to the dusk of dawn, the first day-song -was the beautiful minor strain of the white-throated sparrow. "O -Canada, Canada, Canada," he fluted. Then came a snatch of the wheezing -strain of the song sparrow. Finally, sweetest of all, sounded two or -three tantalizing notes of the hermit thrush, pure, single, prolonged -notes of wonderful sweetness, followed by two arpeggio chords. - -We were up and out before sunrise; for he who would find rare nests -must look for them while the birds are laying or brooding. Four hours -distant, back in Philadelphia, summer had come. Here the trees showed -the green tracery of early spring, and the apple trees were still in -blossom, while everywhere the woods were white with the long pure -snow-petals of the shadblow. Some day we four are going to follow -Spring north, bird's-nesting all the way, until within the Arctic -Circle we find her in mid-July. - -To-day the first nest discovered was that of the junco, or -slate-colored snowbird, whose jingling little song and the flutter of -whose white skirts were everywhere throughout the woods. This one was -close to the camp, hollowed out of the side of a bank of pine-needles, -and held four white eggs sparsely spotted with reddish-brown. The -little mother-bird chipped frantically, with a clicking note which the -Architect said always made him think that she carried pebbles in her -throat. - -There were trillions of trilliums, as the Artist remarked -epigrammatically. Some were the common trilliums, of a dark -garnet-red. Besides these we found many of the rarer painted -trilliums--a pure white triangle with a stained crimson reversed -triangle in the centre. All of the trilliums are studies in triangles. -The painted trillium has the crimson triangle in the centre, set on -the white triangle made up of three petals which, in their turn, are -fixed in a reversed triangle of green sepals, and the whole blossom is -set in a still larger triangle made up of three green leaves. -Everywhere the woods were full of purple-pink rhodora, the earliest of -the azaleas. Its blossoms were silver flecked with deeper-colored -spots. - -The next nest found was to me the most eventful one of the day, -although not an especially rare one on that mountain. The Architect -was walking beside one of the strange hummocks which are thought to -have been formed by buried tree-trunks in the path of some old-time -cyclone. Suddenly his eye was caught by the gleam of four sky-blue -eggs shining like turquoises from a nest directly on the ground, -lined neatly with red-brown pine-needles and with dry dark green moss -on the outside, the hall-mark of the nest of the hermit thrush. In -front of it was a cushion of partridge-berry vines, with their green -leaves and red berries, while blueberry fronds, covered with tender -green leaves, arched over the nest, and sprays of ground-pine -sheltered its sides. It was a fitting home for the beautiful twilight -singer. The eggs of a hermit thrush actually seem to gleam from the -ground, unlike the mottled and speckled and clouded eggs of most -ground-nesters. - -As the sun came up, the whole mountain-side rang with bird-songs. -There was the abrupt strain of the magnolia warbler, who to my ears -says, "Wheedle, wheedle, whee-chee." The black-and-white warbler sang -like a tiny, creaking wheel, as he ran up and down tree-trunks. Down -in the meadows beyond the lake, the long-tailed brown thrasher said, -"Hello, hello! Come over here, come over here. There he goes, there he -goes. Whoa, whoa, ha-ha, ha-ha." If you do not believe my reading of -his song, listen the next time one sings to you, and see if these are -not his exact words. Overhead we often heard the squeal of the -red-shouldered hawk, sounding almost like the cry of the blue jay. -Then there was the loud yet gentle warble of the purple finch; and -once we saw a beautiful rose-red male and his gray-brown wife feeding -each other on a limb like a pair of lovebirds. Another song which was -interesting to me, because almost new, was that of the solitary or -blue-headed vireo, who sang, "See, see me-e. See me, you! you!" His -whole song is in couplets. The Artist said that my rendering was too -imaginative, and that what the bird really said was "Che-wee--che-woo, -che-wee--chu, chu," which perhaps is more accurate. - -[Illustration: THE RED-SHOULDERED HAWK] - -Through appalling swamps and tangled thickets of rhododendron we were -led by the Banker, who had highly resolved not to return without a -sight of the golden-crowned kinglet's nest. Once we came to a large -spruce in which had been cut, in the living wood, great square holes -like those in bar-posts. On one side we counted five, on another -three, while on the opposite side were no less than ten, with a new -one on the top cut right into the solid heart-wood. It was a -feeding-tree of the great pileated woodpecker of the North, a -magnificent black and white bird with a scarlet crest, nearly the size -of a crow. All that morning we searched in vain for the kinglet's -nest. Only as we came back to the cabin at noon for lunch, were our -hopes raised. - -As we walked down the trail, not a hundred yards from the -cabin-entrance, in a spruce tree, the Banker spied a great hanging -nest made of wool and lined with feathers, from the top of which flew -the only golden-crowned kinglet which we saw that day, with the orange -patch on the top of his tiny head edged with black and yellow. The -nest was empty, but the Banker felt that he had made the great -discovery of his life and discoursed learnedly on the industry of this -tiny bird, which could find and carry such a mass of wool and build a -nest at least a hundred times larger than itself. It was not until a -month later that he was reluctantly convinced that what he had found -was the nest of a deer-mouse. - -That afternoon we skirted the little lake and saw, not forty feet -above us, a bald eagle flying down toward us with its snowy neck and -pure white tail. He flew with four or five quick flaps, and then would -soar. In the distance we saw another eagle pursued by a scurrilous -cawing crow. The eagle flew over to the shore, and alighted and drank, -and then, standing on the edge of the water, seemed to be fishing. His -pursuer also alighted just behind him, and walked close up. Every time -the eagle would turn, the crow would scuttle off, like some little -blackguard boy following and reviling one of his elders. Several times -the crow flew over the head of the eagle and tried to gain courage -enough to make a dab at him. Through it all the king of birds paid -absolutely no attention to his tormentor. The comparison of the crow -with the eagle gave some idea of the size of the latter. He seemed -over three times as large as the crow. - -It was the Banker again, on the other side of the lake, who made the -next discovery. We were hunting a little apart through the woods, when -he announced from where he stood that he had just caught a glimpse of -a Brewster's warbler. For the benefit of other bird-students who are -in my class, let me write what I learned that day in regard to said -bird. A Brewster's warbler is the rare hybrid between the -golden-winged warbler and the blue-winged warbler, more closely -resembling the golden-winged. When it takes after the blue-winged, it -is called the Lawrence warbler. This specimen we studied feather by -feather for over half an hour at short range, and the experts of the -party pronounced it beyond peradventure a Brewster's warbler,--a bird -not seen often in a lifetime. It was solid blue on the back, pearly -white underneath, and showed white tail-feathers, together with a -greenish-yellow patch on the very crown of its head. It had two broad -yellow wing-bars, one large and the other small, and its white throat, -innocent of any black mark, was the field-mark by which it could be -told from either of its parents or from its half-brother the Lawrence. - -It was the Artist who made the last discovery of the day. Near the -crest of the mountain, he gave a piercing cry and announced that he -had discovered an Indian cobra. We all hastened to his rescue, and saw -a fearsome sight. Coiled in front of him, hissed and struck a bloated, -swollen snake, with flattened head and up-turned snout. It was none -other than the American puff-adder, which ought to be called the bluff -adder since, in spite of its threats, it is never known to bite, and -is really a harmless and gentle snake. - -The last thing the writer can remember of that trip was hearing, as he -fell asleep, the Architect tell the Banker of the time he found two -loon's eggs, which a man had discovered on the top of a muskrat's -house and put under one of his hens to hatch. - -The next day we were back in Philadelphia and summer again, with a -list of seventy-six different kinds of birds identified on the trip -and a total of ten nests found. - -A few days later I went bird's-nesting with another friend in the very -heart of the city of Camden. Through the manufacturing district a -sluggish creek winds its way past factory after factory. There, under -a clump of golden-rod leaves, he showed me the nest of a spotted -sandpiper, made of reeds lined with grass, containing four -eggs--dark-brown eggs, spotted at the larger end with chocolate marks, -and coming to a sharp point at the other end. Later on, I found -another nest in the middle of a mass of horse-tail. Then, in the very -centre of a base-ball diamond, not far from second base, on the naked -ground, he showed me a killdeer's nest--a hollow scraped in the -gravel, with four eggs which so matched the stones that they had -escaped the notice of the players all around them. On the bank of the -creek we found song sparrows' nests, and out in a patch of marsh, on -the very last tussock, the dried-grass nest of a swamp sparrow, which -was much thicker than the song sparrow's, while the four eggs were of -a marbled warm brown and white. - -Then we pushed on, still in the city limits, until we came to an old -quarry-bed half-filled with water, which had turned into a noisome bit -of marshland. Pushing a rickety raft out through the muck and -water-reeds of the stagnant water, my friend showed me, on a clump of -pickerel weed on a sunken stick, a nest of twigs on which was -sitting a strange bird. Its long sharp beak pointed straight skyward. -Its back was a combination of shades of soft reddish-browns, while its -breast was reddish-brown streaked with white. The most curious things -about it were its eyes. They were almost all pupil, with a bright -golden ring around the extreme edge, and stared at us unwinkingly like -a great snake. Although we came close up, the bird absolutely refused -to leave her nest, and stabbed viciously at a stick which I poked out -toward her. Finally, not daring to trust my hand within reach of that -stabbing yellow beak, I lifted her up bodily with the long stick, -enough to show five whitish-blue eggs rounded at each end. It was the -rare nest and eggs of the least bittern, a bird a little over a foot -long, which has a strange habit of clutching with its claws the stalks -of reeds and walking up them like a monkey. As we left, amid the -clicking notes of the cricket-frogs and the boom of the bull-frogs we -heard a very low "Cluck, cluck, cluck." It was the least bittern -singing the only song she knew, in celebration of the fact that she -still had her eggs safe. - -[Illustration: MRS. KILDEER AT HER NEST] - -The Architect and myself decided to travel once again, later in the -season, to the mountain, in the hope that we might make a better -nesting record. We reached the cabin on June 17th, and again found -ourselves back in spring. The peepers were still calling, and there -were wild lilies-of-the-valley in the woods, and pink rose-hearted -twin-flowers, with their scent of heliotrope. Everywhere grew the -dwarf cornel, or bunch-berry, with its four white petals--the smallest -of the dogwoods, which grows only a few inches high. - -The first nest was found by me. It was built on a foundation of tiny -twigs in a bush, and had a two-story effect, the upper story being -made of fine grass. As I came near the bush, a magnificent -chestnut-sided warbler, with the bay patches on his sides and his -yellow crown, made such an outcry that I suspected the nest and -finally found it. There were three eggs in it and one tiny young bird, -smaller than a bumblebee. Everywhere grew the beautiful northern -azalea, of a clear pink with a perfume like sandal-wood. The Canadian -warbler, with its black necklace on its yellow breast, sang everywhere -a song which sounded like, "Ea-sy, ea-sy, you, you"; and we heard also -the orange-throated Blackburnian warbler's wiry, thin notes. - -Near the top of the mountain are two sphagnum bogs, difficult to find, -but the home of many a rare bird. We finally located the larger of -these bogs, and there the Artist made the great discovery of the day. -Right out from underneath his foot, as he splashed through the wet -moss, flew a yellow-bellied flycatcher, which gives a note like the -wood-pewee and whose nest had been found only once before in the state -of Pennsylvania. Right in front of him, hidden in the deep moss, was -this long-sought nest. It was set deep in club-moss and lined with -white pine-needles, and contained four pinkish-white eggs with an -aureole around the larger end, with light rufous markings. It was so -overshadowed with wintergreen leaves and aronia and bunch-berries -that, even after the Artist had pointed out the place to me, it was -with very great difficulty that I found it. - -As we crossed the marsh, I heard the song of the olive-backed thrush, -which sounds to me like a cross between the notes of the wood thrush -and the strange harp-chords of the veery or Wilson thrush. In another -part of the bog sang the rare Nashville warbler, whose nest we have -yet to find. Its song starts like the creak of the black-and-white -warbler and ends like a chipping sparrow. In a marsh beyond the -sphagnum bog, I found the nest of a Maryland yellowthroat, set in a -yellow viburnum shrub some six inches from the ground. This nest is -usually on the ground. It was set just as a gem is set in a ring, the -setting consisting of leaves which come up into five or six points. -Held by the points is a little cup of grass. The eggs were the most -beautiful we saw that day--of a pinkish-white with a wreath of -chestnut blotches around the larger end. On the farther side of the -marsh, a white-throated sparrow flew out from in front of me; and -after a long search I found its nest--a little moss-rimmed cup of -gray-green, yellow grass, containing four eggs of a faint blue clouded -with chestnut, which was massed in large blotches at the larger end. -With the four eggs was a dumpy young cow-bird, that fatal changeling -which is the death of so many little birds. In this case we saved four -prospective white-throated sparrows from being starved to death by -their ugly foster-brother. The white-throat is a dear, gentle, little -bird. Even its alarm-notes are soft, instead of being harsh and -disagreeable like those of most other sparrows. - -The next day I found a song sparrow's nest and a catbird's nest, and -then in the midst of dark, cool woods, where an icy brown trout-brook -ran through a mass of rhododendron, a thrush suddenly slipped away -ahead of me out of a clump of rhododendron bushes. The light color of -the bird and the lighter spotted breast marked it as a veery or Wilson -thrush. On looking at the bush, I saw the nest, a rough one made of -hemlock twigs matted together, and lined with pine-needles with a -basis of leaves. Inside were four small eggs of a heavenly blue. They -are among the smallest of all of our pure-blue eggs. - -That same day the Artist found a beautiful nest of a -black-throated-blue warbler, also set in a rhododendron bush. The nest -was made of the light inner bark of the rhododendron, which was of a -bright yellow. Inside, it was lined with black and tan rootlets so -fine that they look almost like horse-hair. These are the same -rootlets which the magnolia warbler uses to line its nest, and up to -the present time no ornithologist whom I have met has been able to -identify them. - - * * * * * - -"Can you go to Maryland to-day on a bird-trip?" telephoned the -Banker. - -"No," said I, "lawyers have to work for a living." - -"There'll be blue-gray gnatcatchers and mocking-birds and Acadian -flycatchers," he tried again. - -"No," said I. - -"I've found out where the prothonotary warbler lives," he said once -more. - -"No," said I. - -"We may find its nest," he continued. "No one up here has seen one for -years." - -"No," said I firmly. "What time does the train start?" - -Sunset found me Somewhere in Maryland. I was squeezed into a buggy -built for one, along with the Miller, at whose house we were intending -to stop, and the Banker, who is constructed on flowing, generous -lines. We drove creakingly through miles and miles of blossoming peach -orchards. At the Miller's house we ate the worst supper that money -could buy. The Miller's wife had evidently been born a bad cook, and -by careful practice had become worse. It was over at last, and the -Banker and I retired to a room under the rafters which contained one -window and a mountainous bed. The rest of the space was taken up by -mosquitoes. I undressed, jumped into the bed, and sank out of sight. -The Banker located me by my muffled cries for help, and pulled me to -the surface just in time to save my life. Thereafter we molded a -conical crater in that feather-bed and carefully fitted ourselves in, -leaving a large air-hole at the top. - -It was a hot night. The mosquitoes bit steadily, and the feather-bed -was like a furnace seven times heated. All night long a whip-poor-will -called his name under our window over three million times. The Banker -said he counted the notes. Finally, after hours and hours of agony, I -fell into a troubled sleep and was instantly awakened by the Banker, -who said it was time to get up. We breakfasted on what remained of the -corpse of the supper of the night before, which we found on the table. -A few moments later I was morosely moving an alleged boat through the -mists of the morass. - -Without further alliteration, let me chronicle what paid for all the -toil, hardships and privations of the trip. It was the sight of a bird -of burnished gold flashing through the curling mists. "Tweet, tweet, -tweet," he called ringingly as he flew. The note reminded me somewhat -of the loud song of the Kentucky warbler, and the Banker, of the note -of the solitary sandpiper. Every now and then we caught tantalizing -glimpses of this warbler, which never by any chance stands still, but -flits here and there among the trees over the water. From the trees I -constantly heard squeaking notes, apparently of young birds. They -sounded everywhere, and I decided that the whole marsh must be full of -nests. The Banker laughed at my ignorance and told me that this was -the note of the blue-gray gnatcatchers--"like a mouse with a -toothache," as Chapman describes it. With great difficulty I caught a -glimpse of the tiny bird here and there among the tree-tops, and saw -the two long feathers of its tail, and had a glimpse of the gray and -white of its plumage. Some weeks before, the Banker had found down -there one of its rare and beautiful nests, like a large hummingbird's -nest, lined with down and thatched on the outside with lichens, and -fastened to a high bough. - -That day I found the first nest of the prothonotary warbler. This bird -uses deserted woodpeckers' nests in dead trees set in marshes, so it -was necessary to paddle around to every dead tree which showed a hole. -I finally saw a little red-birch stub sticking up in the corner of the -marsh, and rowing over to it, noticed a small hole in its side. -Picking away the bark, I made it larger and a piece of the fresh green -moss, from which the nest of the prothonotary warbler is always built, -showed itself. Imbedded in the moss was a vivid orange-yellow feather, -which could belong to no other bird. The nest was just built and -contained no eggs. - -The Banker found the second nest, in a willow-stub ten feet from the -ground, in an old downy woodpecker's nest. He found it by seeing the -male bird fly into the hole. Climbing up to the nest, he found that in -it were four young birds. Perching on a limb, he sat about four feet -from the nest while I was in the boat perhaps ten feet away. The -cock-bird flew up with a May-fly, making a soft alarm-note something -like that made by a field sparrow, only gentler. He flew up close to -where my friend sat and hesitated for a long while. Finally, the -hungry little birds inside gave a prolonged squeak, which probably -meant, "May-flies immediately!" This was too much for Mr. -Prothonotary. With a farewell look at the Banker, he turned his back -and dived into the nest, placing himself entirely at the mercy of this -giant who was keeping guard over his home. Seven times he did this -while we watched, bringing in two beetles, a small wasp, a fly, and -three May-flies. The hen-bird would come up time and time again with a -fly in her beak, but never could quite muster up courage enough to go -into the nest, but absent-mindedly swallowing the fly herself, would -go off. - -We had a wonderful chance to study the coloring of this rare bird. The -cock-bird had a bright black eye which showed vividly against his -yellow cheek, as did his long black bill. His colors were gray, -yellow, and olive. The underside of his tail was pure white, and he -had a white edge to his wings, while the top of the wings was -greenish-yellow. The whole head, throat, and breast were of an intense -golden, almost orange yellow, and the wings were bluish-gray. The bird -itself was just about the size of the common black-and-white warbler. -The female was of the same coloring, only much paler. - -After that came the tragedy of the day for me. An overhanging bough -knocked off my glasses, and they sank in the black waters of the marsh -and continued sunk, in spite of my frantic groping and diving for -them. The rest of the day I realized how the blinded galley-slaves -felt who were chained to the oar in medięval times. The Banker kindly -described to me all the sixty-five different kinds of birds he saw in -that marsh. As my vision was limited to a range of about two feet, I -did not see many more birds personally. In spite of my blinded -condition, I did discover, however, another prothonotary's nest. I had -taken hold of a rotten willow-stub while pushing the boat through a -thicket. It broke in my hand, and there, in an exposed downy -woodpecker's hole, was a newly made nest of green moss, with a few -twigs and bark-strips on top, but no eggs. The fourth and last nest -was found by the Banker, again in a downy's hole. He saw something -move and thought it was a mouse or chickadee. Finally a long bill came -out of the hole and then a head. It was a hen prothonotary building -her nest. She had the hole already filled with moss, and was bringing -in grass, and would whirl around and around inside, modeling the nest -carefully. Within, she had lined it with grass, just as a chipping -sparrow's nest is lined with hair. - -This was the last nest of the day. The Banker suggested that we stay -over another night, but I felt that home was the best place for a -blind man. My last memory of the golden prothonotary was hearing him -call, "Tweet, tweet, tweet" from the willows, as we started back to -the mill. - -The last of my nesting-trips was on July 7th. The Artist in some -mysterious way had learned the secret of Tern Island, one of the few -places on the New Jersey coast where the Wilson tern still nests. In a -rickety old power-boat--probably it was the first one ever built--we -traveled haltingly through the most intricate channels imaginable, -and finally reached an island hidden by shoals and salt-marshes, but -whose farther beach faced the ocean. There, in a space about four -hundred by one hundred feet, we found seventy nests of tern, -containing a hundred and sixty-five eggs. Most of the nests contained -two eggs, some three, and one, four. The nests were merely hollows in -the sand, lined with bits of pure-white shell. The usual color of the -eggs was a blue-green background, heavily blotched with chocolate -blotches, although I found one egg of a light green, speckled all over -with light-red specks. In only one nest was there a young bird. The -little chick lay flat in the burning sun, while overhead hung the -mother tern, pearl-white with black-tipped wings, making a grinding, -scolding note. The young tern was downy like a duckling, and had tiny -red feet and a pink beak tipped with black. We put up a stake to mark -the nest, and later in the day, when we came back to photograph it, we -found that the little tern had crawled out, followed the shadow which -the stick had made, and lay with its head in the scanty shade far away -from the nest. - -We met other rare water-fowl that blazing day. We saw the rare piping -plover, whose nest I was afterwards to find in Upper Canada, black -skimmers, with their strange slant-cut beaks, black tern, least tern, -loons, black-bellied plover, and everywhere throughout the -salt-meadows enormous great-blue herons. - -This was the last trip of our quartette for the summer, and we are -looking forward to many more springs and summers among the bird-folk. -Let me end as I began--go bird's-nesting. Escape into the open from -these narrow in-door days, and learn the way to where the wild-folk -dwell. Seek their paterans and share their secrets. In their land you -will find the help of the hills, and hope wide as the world, and -strength and youth and health and happiness in full measure. Try it. - - - - -VIII - -THE TREASURE-HUNT - - -I have always been of a very treasurous disposition. Such terms as -ingots, doubloons, and pieces-of-eight all my life long have been to -me words of power. In spite of these tendencies, I cannot say that up -to date I have unearthed much treasure. To be sure, there was that day -when I found a shiny quarter in the mud on my way to school. Instead -of being the out-cropping of a lode of currency, it turned out, -however, to be only a sporadic, solitary, companionless coin. Even so, -it was no mean find. I remember that it brought into my young life a -full pound of peppermint lozenges tastefully decorated in red ink, -with mottos of simple diction and exquisite sentiment. "Remember me," -and "I love but dare not tell," were two of them, while another was a -manly query unanswered across the years which read, "How about a -kiss?" Although this treasure-trove gained me a fleeting popularity, -yet, like all treasure, it was soon gone. A prosaic teacher -confiscated the bulk of the hoard, and all I gained from it was the -privilege of learning by heart a poem of the late Mr. Longfellow. To -this day those beautiful lines,-- - - Be still, sad heart, and cease repining, - Behind the clouds is the sun still shining,-- - -cause in me a slight sensation of nausea. - -It is probably due to these lawless traits that in my meridian years I -now hold the position which I do. Five and a half days in the week I -practise law. On Saturday and Sunday afternoons and all holidays, -legal and illegal, I am the Captain of a Robber Band, with all the -perquisites and perils which go with that high office. Without -vaunting myself unduly, I may claim to have fairly deserved my -position. Starting as a mere friar in the band of one Robin Hood, my -abilities as an outlaw brought me rapidly to the front. Thereafter, -when that band was reorganized, I was unanimously offered the position -once held by that implacable character who knew the Sesame Secret and -pursued a Mr. Baba so unsuccessfully, yet so unflinchingly. Flattered -by this recognition of qualities of leadership unsuspected by an -unthinking world, I accepted the responsibilities of the captaincy. -They were shared by First-Lieutenant Trottie, Second-Lieutenant Honey, -Sergeant Henny-Penny, and Corporal Alice-Palace. There were no -privates. - -It was on a spring evening soon after the aforesaid election that the -Band met. The Captain spoke with the stern brevity which characterizes -all great leaders. - -"Comrades," he announced, shutting the door and looking carefully -under the sofa to make sure that there were no spies about, "I have -just heard that there is a treasure not many miles from here. All -those in favor of a treasure-hunt to-morrow will kindly make a loud -noise." - -The vote was probably the finest collection of assorted sounds ever -heard outside of a ship-yard. Right in the middle of it, the door -burst open, and in rushed Minnie, the cook, with a dipper of water, -under the impression that her favorite fear of fire had at last come -to pass. Close behind her was the Quartermaster-General, sometimes -known as Mother, while almost at the same instant old John, the -gardener, ran up on the porch with an axe, shouting hopefully, "Hould -him! I'm comin'!" under the impression that there was a fight of sorts -well under way. - -The voting stopped suddenly, and the Captain looked quite ashamed as -he explained. Mother pretended to be very indignant. - -"Some day," she said, "you'll all be in terrible danger and you'll -shout and yell and scream and bellow for help but not one of us will -come, will we, John?" - -"Divil a step," called back John, as he clumped disappointedly down -the steps, his unused axe over his shoulder. - -The Quartermaster-General agreed to withdraw her threat only after the -Captain had pledged the honor of the Band that there should be no -further disgustful noises within the house. Thereafter there were -hurryings and skurryings and dashings to and fro, in preparation for -the great adventure. Honey put fresh rubbers on his trusty sling-shot, -with which he could frequently hit a barn-door at five paces. Trottie -oiled up the air-rifle, which he was only allowed to use in windowless -wildernesses. Henny-Penny kept up such a fusillade with his new -pop-gun, that the Captain threatened to send him forth unarmed on the -morrow if he heard but one more pop. Alice-Palace's practice, however, -was the most spectacular. She had a water-pistol which, when properly -charged, would propel a stream of water an unbelievable distance. From -the bathroom door she took a snap-shot at Henny-Penny, who was -approaching her confidingly. The charge took effect in the very centre -of a large pink ear, and it was a long time before Henny-Penny could -be convinced that he was not mortally wounded. - -At last the Captain ordered bed and perfect silence within fifteen -minutes, under penalty of being shot at sunrise. - -"Nobody couldn't shoot me at sunrise," boasted Corporal Alice-Palace, -as she started up the stairs, "cause I wouldn't get up." - -The next morning at dawn, from the Captain's room sounded the clear -whistle of the cardinal grosbeak--the adventure-call of the Band. -Followed thumps, splashings, and the sounds of rapid dressing from the -third story where the Band bivouacked. - -"If there be any here," announced the Captain after breakfast, "who -for the sake of their wives and families wish to draw back, now is the -time. Once on the way, it will be too late." - -"I haven't got any wife," piped up Henny-Penny, "nor any family 'cept -this one, but I want to come." - -Similar sentiments were expressed by the rest of the Band. The Captain -said that it made the blood run faster in his shriveled old veins to -have such gallant comrades. - -Purple grackles creaked and clattered in the trees, and the bushes -were full of song-sparrow notes, as the Band hurried away from the -house-line toward the Land of the Wild-Folk, where Romance still -dwells and adventures lurk behind every bush. A tottering stone -chimney marked its boundaries. There old Roberts Road began. On and -beyond Roberts Road anything might happen. - -Each one of the Band, in addition to the lethal weapons already set -forth, carried a note-book and a pencil with which to keep a list of -all birds seen and heard, with notes on the same. Even Corporal -Alice-Palace, who was only six, carried a blank-book about the size of -a geography. To date it contained this single entry: "Robbins eat -wormes. I saw him do it." - -The Quartermaster-General, despite the difficulty of the evening -before, had seen to it that the Band carried with them the very finest -lunch that any treasure-hunters ever had since Pizarro dined with the -Inca of Peru. - -As they moved deep and deeper into Wild-Folk Land the air was full of -bird-songs. The Captain made them stop and listen to the singing -sparrows. First there was the song sparrow, who begins with three -notes and wheezes a little as he sings. It took them longer to learn -the quieter song of the vesper sparrow, with the flash of white in his -tail-feathers. His song always starts with two dreamy, contralto -notes and dies away in a spray of soprano twitterings. Then there were -the silver flute-notes of the little pink-beaked field sparrow, which -they were to hear later across darkling meadows, and the strange minor -strains of the white-throated sparrow. - -Before long, a sudden thirst came upon Sergeant Henny-Penny. -Fortunately they were near the bubbling spring that marked the -beginning of Fox Valley, and the whole Band halted and drank in the -most advanced military manner, to wit, by bending the rims of their -felt hats into a cup. This method the Captain assured them was far -superior to the more usual system of lying flat on their tummies, and -had the approval of all great military leaders from Gideon down. - -Right in the very midst of their drinking, there sounded from the -thicket a hurried warble of a mellow timbre, the wood-wind of the -sparrow orchestra, and they caught a fleeting glimpse of the gray and -tawny which is worn only by the fox sparrow, the largest of the -sparrows and the sweetest and rarest singer of them all. A moment -later a song sparrow sang. When he stopped, the strain was taken up by -the fox sparrow in another key. Three times through he sang the -twelve-note melody of the song sparrow, and his golden voice made the -notes of the other sound pitifully thin and reedy. Then the fox -sparrow threw in for good measure a few extemporaneous whistled -strains of his own, and seemed to wait expectantly--but the song -sparrow sang no more. - -Through the long narrow valley, hidden between two green hills, -marched the Band, following the hidden safe path that generations of -foxes had made through the very middle of a treacherous marsh. As the -road bent in toward Darby Creek, there sounded the watchman's rattle -of the first kingfisher they had heard that year; and as they came to -the creek itself, a vast blue-gray bird with a long neck and bill -flapped up ahead of them. It was so enormous that Alice-Palace was -positive that it was a roc; but it turned out to be the great blue -heron, the largest bird in Eastern America. - -From the marshy fields swept great flocks of red-winged blackbirds, -each one showing a yellow-bordered, crimson epaulet, proof positive -that Mrs. Blackbird was still in the South. Mrs. Robin had come back -the week before, which accounted for the joy-songs which sounded from -every tree-top. Until she comes, the robin's song is faint and thin -and infrequent. Beyond the creek they heard the "Quick, quick, quick," -of the flicker calling to spring, and before long they came to the -tree where he had hollowed his hole. A most intelligent flicker he -was, too, for his shaft was sunk directly under a sign which read "No -Shooting Here." - -From behind them as they marched, tolled the low sweet bell-notes of -the mourning dove--"Ah--coo, coo, coo." The Captain tried to imitate -the sound, and the harassed bird stood it as long as he could, but -finally flew away with whistling wings. Then the Captain told the Band -of a brave mother-dove whose nest he once found on the last day of -March. It was only a flat platform of dry sticks in a spruce tree, and -held two pearly-white eggs. The day after he found it, there came a -sudden snowstorm, and when he saw the nest again, it was covered with -snow--but there was the mother-bird still brooding her dear-loved -eggs, with her head just showing above the drifted whiteness. - -[Illustration: MR. FLICKER AT HOME] - -Beside the ruins of a spring-house, a gray bird with a tilting tail -said, "Phoe, bee-bee, bee." It was the little phoebe, so glad to -be back that he stuttered when he called his name. Thereafter the -Captain was moved to relate another anecdote. It seemed a friend of -his had stopped a pair of robins from nesting over a hammock hung -under an apple tree, by nailing a stuffed cat right beside their -bough. Whereupon the two robins, when they came the next morning, fled -with loud chirps of dismay. When two phoebes started to build on his -porch, he tried the same plan. He was called out of town the next day, -and when he came back a week later he found that the phoebes had -deserted their old nest. They had however built a new one--on top of -the cat's head. - -As the Band swung back into the far end of Roberts Road, the Captain's -eye caught the gleam of a half-healed notch which he had cut in a -pin-oak sapling the year before, at the top of a high bank, to mark -the winter-quarters of a colony of blacksnakes. He halted the Band, -and one by one they clambered up the slope, stopping puffingly at the -first ledge, and searching the withered grass and gray rocks above -for any black, sinister shapes. Suddenly Honey did a remarkable -performance in the standing-back-broad-jump, finishing by rolling -clear to the foot of the bank. Right where he had stood lay a hale and -hearty specimen of a blacksnake nearly five feet long. Evidently it -had only just awakened from its winter-sleep, for there were -clay-smears on the smooth, satiny scales, and even a patch of clay -between the golden, unwinking eyes. Only the flickering of a long, -black, forked tongue showed that his snakeship was alive. Then it was -that the Captain lived up to the requirements of his position by -picking up that blacksnake with what he fondly believed to be an air -of unconcern. He showed the awe-stricken Band that the pupil of the -snake's eye was a circle, instead of the oval which is the hallmark of -that fatal family of pit-vipers to which the rattlesnake, copperhead, -and moccasin belong. - -"If you have any doubt about a snake," lectured the Captain, "pick it -up and look it firmly in the eye. If the pupil is oval--drop it. -Perhaps, however," he went on reflectively, "it would be better to get -someone else to do the picking-up part." - -When the Band learned from the Captain that it was the creditable -custom of the Zoölogical Gardens to give free entry to such as bore -with them as a gift a snake of size, their views toward the captive -changed considerably. Said snake was now legal tender, to be cherished -accordingly. It was the resourceful First Lieutenant Trottie who -solved all difficulties in regard to transportation. He hurriedly -removed a stocking, and the snake was inserted therein, giving the -stocking that knobbed, lumpy appearance usually seen in such articles -only at Christmas time. - -[Illustration: THE MOURNING DOVE ON HER NEST] - -From the Den the Band marched to a bowl-shaped meadow not far from old -Tory Bridge, under which a Revolutionary soldier hid with his horse -while his pursuers thundered overhead, well-nigh a century and a half -ago. On three sides of the field the green turf sloped down to a long -level stretch, covered by a thin growth of different trees, centring -on a thicket through which trickled a little stream. Near the fence on -a white-oak tree some ill-tempered owner had fastened a fierce sign -which read: "Keep out. Trespassers will be shot without notice." The -cross owner had been gone many a long year, but the sign still stood, -and it always gave the Band a delightful thrill to read it. - -At the edge of the grove the Captain halted them all. - -"Comrades," he said in a whisper, "I have heard rumors that there is a -clue to the treasure hidden in the sign-tree." - -It was enough. With one accord the Band sprang upon that defenceless -tree. Some searched among its gnarled roots. Others examined the lower -branches. It was Henny-Penny, however, who boosted by Alice-Palace, -fumbled back of the threatening old sign and drew out a crumpled slip -of grimy paper. On it had been laboriously inscribed in some red -fluid, presumably blood, a skull and cross-bones. Underneath, in a -very bad hand, was written: "By the roots of the nearest black-walnut -tree. Captain Kidd." - -There was a moment's check. It was Honey who recognized the tree by -its crooked clutching twigs, and found at its roots a crumpled piece -of paper which said: "Go to the nearest tulip tree. Blackbeard the -Pirate." It was Trottie who remembered that a tulip tree has square -leaves, and it was he who found the message which read: "I am buried -under a stone which stands between a spice-bush and a white-ash tree." -They all knew the spice-bush, with its brittle twigs and pungent bark -which was made to be nibbled, and under the stone they found a note -which said: "Look in the crotch of a dogwood tree. If you will listen -you will hear its bark"; which made the Band laugh like anything. - -The last message of all read: "I am swinging in a vireo's nest on the -branch of a sour-gum tree." That was a puzzle which held the Band -hunting like beagles in check for a long time. Corporal Alice-Palace -at last spied the bleached little basket-nest at the end of a low -limb. Inside was a bit of paper which, when unfolded, seemed to be -entirely blank. So were the face of the Band as they looked. It was -the Captain again who saved the day. - -"I have heard," he whispered, "that sometimes pirates write in -lemon-juice, which makes an invisible ink that needs heat to bring it -out. Like the Gold-Bug, you know." - -It was enough. In less than sixty seconds, sun time, the Band had -built a tiny fire after the most approved Indian method, and as soon -as it began to crackle, the paper was held as close to the blaze as -possible. The Captain had the right idea. As the paper bent under the -heat, on its white surface brown tracings appeared, which slowly -formed letters and then words, until they could all read: "I am in the -hidey-hole of the chimney of the Haunted House. The Treasure." - -For a moment the Band stared at each other in silence. They had made a -special study of pirates, black, white, yellow, and mixed. Haunted -houses, however, were beyond their bailiwick. It spoke well for the -iron discipline and high hearts of the company that not one of them -faltered. Led by dauntless Sergeant Henny-Penny, they crossed the -creek in single file on a tippy tree-trunk. Half hidden in the bushes -above, a gaunt stone house stared down at them out of empty -window-sockets like a skull. Through the thicket and straight up the -slope the Band charged, with such speed that the Captain was hard put -to keep up with his gallant officers. They never halted until they -stood at the threshold of the House itself. Under the bowed lintel the -Band marched, and never halted until they reached the vast fireplace -which took in a whole side of the room. The floorings of the House had -gone, and nothing but the naked beams remained, save for a patch of -warped boards far up against the stone chimney where the attic used to -be. It was plainly there that they must look for the hidey-hole. - -The Captain showed his followers how in one of the window-ledges the -broken ends of the joists made a rude ladder. Up this the Band -clambered to the first tier of joists, without any mishap save that -the Captain's hat fell off and landed in front of the fireplace. - -As they all roosted like chickens on the beams, there sounded a -footstep just outside. The Band stood stony still and held their -breath. Through the dim doorway came the furtive figure of a man. In -one hand he carried a basket, while the other was clinched on a -butcher-knife well fitted for dark and desperate deeds. Although the -basket seemed to be filled with dandelion greens, no one could tell -what dreadful, dripping secret might be concealed underneath. For a -minute the stranger looked uneasily around the shadowy room, and when -his eye caught sight of the Captain's hat, he started back and peered -into every corner, while the Band stood taut and tense just over his -unsuspecting head. At last, however, evidently convinced that the hat -was ownerless and abandoned, he picked it up and, taking off his own -battered, shapeless head-covering, started to try on the Captain's -cherished felt. Then it was that the latter acted. Bending noiselessly -down until his head was hardly a foot above the unwary wanderer's ear, -he shouted in a deep, fierce, growly voice which the Band had never -suspected him of having:-- - -"Drop that hat! Run for your life!" - -The stranger obeyed both of these commands to the letter. Throwing -away the hat as if it were redhot, he dashed out of the doorway and -sprinted down the slope, scattering dandelion greens at every jump, -and disappeared in the thicket beyond. Although the Captain laughed -and laughed until he nearly fell off his beam, the rest of the Band -feared the worst. - -"He looked exactly like Black Dog," murmured Honey in a low voice. - -"Yes," chimed in Trottie, "kind of slinky and tallowy." - -Whereupon, in spite of the Captain's reassuring words, they made haste -to find the Treasure, fearing lest at any moment they might hear the -shrill and dreadful whistle which sounded on the night when Billy -Bones died. Sidling along the beams in the wake of the Captain, they -came to what remained of a crumbling staircase. One by one they passed -up this until they reached the bit of attic flooring which they had -seen from below. Sure enough, in one of the soft mica-schist rocks of -the chimney, someone had chiseled a deep and delightful hidey-hole. - -It was Lieutenant Trottie who, by virtue of his rank, first explored -the unknown depths and drew therefrom a heavy, grimy canvas bag. When -he undid the draw-string, a rolling mass of gold and silver nuggets -rattled down on the dry boards, while the Band gasped at the sight of -so much sudden wealth. A moment later a series of crunching noises -showed that the treasure-hunters had discovered that said gold and -silver were only thin surface foils, each concealing a luscious heart -of sweet chocolate. The Captain met their inquiring glances unmoved. - -"It only shows," he explained, "what thoughtful chaps pirates have -become. They knew you couldn't use a bag of doubloons nowadays, but -that sweet chocolate always comes in handy." - -Hidden treasure is not a thing to be investigated scientifically, nor -can anything restore a glamour once gone. Perhaps so unconsciously -reasoned the Band as they followed the Captain down the steep stairs -and the steeper ladder. Through the lilac bushes he led them around to -the far side of the House. There the stairway had disappeared, and -most of the sagging floor-beams were broken. A limb of a nearby apple -tree had thrust its way above the lilac thicket, until it nearly -touched the ledge of a window half hidden by the boughs. - -Up the apple tree the Captain clambered, followed by the Band, and -walking out on the limb, led the way across the window-ledge into a -tiny room. For some unknown reason, amid the general wreckage and ruin -of the House, this room still stood untouched and with its flooring -unbroken. Even the walls, plastered a deep blue, showed scarcely a -crack on their surface. Best of all, fronting the open dormer of the -window, was a long, deep settee, with curly, carved legs and a bent, -comfortable back. Its seat was so wide that the Corporal's legs stuck -out straight in front of her when she sat down with the rest of the -Band at the end of the line. - -Framed in the broken sheathing and bleached stone of the -window-opening, there stretched out before them a vista of little -valleys and round wooded hills, all feathery green with the new -leaves of early spring. The Band felt that they occupied a strong and -strategic position. A drop of some twenty feet sheer from the broken -flooring behind them to the ground protected them against any rear -attack, and the only entrance to their refuge was so shadowed and -hidden by rose-red and snow-white apple-blossoms that it would be a -cunning and desperate foe indeed who could find or would storm their -fastness. - -With safety once secured, it was the unanimous feeling of the whole -company that luncheon was the next and most pressing engagement for -their consideration. An investigation of the commissary showed that -the Quartermaster-General had merited promotion and decoration and -citation and various other military honors, by reason of the -unsurpassable quality of the rations for which she was responsible. -When these were topped off by the Treasure for dessert, it was felt by -the whole Band that this was a Day which thereafter would rank in -their memories with Fourth of July and Thanksgiving, and press hard -upon the heels even of Christmas Day itself. - -After a rapturous half-hour undisturbed by any desultory and -unnecessary conversation, followed a chapter in the Adventures of -Great-great Uncle Jake. Said relative had been a distant collateral -connection of the Captain, and had fought through the Revolution, and, -in the opinion of the Band, next to General Washington, had probably -been most nearly responsible for the final success of the patriot -arms. It was Uncle Jake who made General Putnam get off his horse into -the mud and give the countersign. It was Uncle Jake who shot the -Hessian who used to stand on an earthwork and make insulting gestures -every morning toward the Continental camp. It was Uncle Jake again -who, when he was captured, broke his way out of the Hulks, and swam -ashore one stormy night. To-day the Captain had bethought himself of a -rather unusual experience which Uncle Jake once had while hunting -bears. - -"It was during a February thaw," he began. "Uncle Jake was coming down -Pond Hill, when he stepped into a mushy place back of a patch of -bushes, and sank in up to his waist. He felt something soft under his -feet and stamped down hard. A second later," continued the Captain -impressively, "he wished he hadn't. Something rose right up underneath -him, and the next thing poor old Uncle Jake knew, he was astride a big -black bear, going down hill like mad--riding bear-back as it were. You -see," went on the Captain hurriedly, "Uncle Jake had stepped into a -bear-hole and waked up a bear by stamping on his back. He was in a bad -fix. He didn't want to stay on and he didn't dare to get off. So what -do you suppose he did?" - -"Rode him up a tree," hazarded Henny-Penny. - -"No," said the Captain. "He stuck on until they got to level ground. -Then Uncle Jake drew his hunting-knife and stabbed the old bear dead -right through his neck, and afterwards made an overcoat out of its -skin." - -The Band felt that they could bear nothing further in the story line -after this anecdote, and the Treasure having gone the way of all -treasures, the march back was begun. It was the Captain who, on this -homeward trip, discovered another treasure. They were passing a marshy -swale of land, where a little stream trickled through a tangle of -trees. From out of the thicket came an unknown bird-call. "Pip, pip, -pip," it sounded. As they peered among the bushes, on a low branch the -Captain saw six strange birds, all gold and white and black, with -thick, white bills. Never had the Band seen him so excited before. He -told them that the strangers were none other than a company of the -rare evening grosbeaks, which had come down from the far Northwest, -which had never before been reported in that county, and which few -bird-students ever meet in a whole lifetime, although he had found a -flock in New Jersey a few months before. For long the Band stood and -watched them. They flew down on the ground and began feeding on -cherry-pits, cracking the stones in their great bills. At times they -would fly up into a tree and sidle along the limbs like little -parrots. The females had mottled black-and-white wings and gray backs -and breasts, while the males had golden breasts and backs, with wings -half velvet-black and half ivory-white. - -For a long time they all watched the birds and made notes, until the -dimming light warned them that it was time to be on their way. In the -twilight the hylas called across the marshes, and from upland meadows -scores of meadow-larks cried, "Swee-eet, swee-eet." Westering down the -sky sank the crescent new moon, with blazing Jupiter in her train. As -the Band climbed Violet Hill and swung into the long lane which ended -in home, they heard the last and loveliest bird-song of that whole -dear day. Through the gathering darkness came a sweet and dreamy -croon, the love-song of the little owl. Even as they listened, the -distant door of the house opened and, framed in the lamp-light, -waiting for them, was Mother, the best treasure of all. - - - - -IX - -ORCHID-HUNTING - - -My path led down the side of the lonely Barrack, as the coffin-shaped -hill had been named. There I had been exploring a little mountain -stream, which I had fondly and mistakenly hoped might prove to be a -trout-brook. The winding wood-road passed through dim aisles of -whispering pine trees. At a steep place, a bent green stem stretched -half across the path, and from it swayed a rose-red flower like a -hollow sea-shell carved out of jacinth. For the first time I looked -down on the moccasin flower or pink lady-slipper (_Cypripedium -acaule_), the largest of our native orchids. - -For a long time I hung over the flower. Its discovery was a great -moment, one of those that stand out among the thirty-six-odd million -of minutes that go to make up a long life. For the first time my eyes -were opened to see what a lovely thing a flower could be. In the -half-light I knelt on the soft pine-needles and studied long the -hollow purple-pink shell, veined with crimson, set between two other -tapering petals of greenish-purple, while a sepal of the same color -curved overhead. The whole flower swayed between two large curved, -grooved leaves. - -Leaving the path, I began to hunt for others under the great trees, -and at last came upon a whole congregation nodding and swaying in -long rows around the vast trunks of white pines which were old trees -when this country was born. - -From that day I became a hunter of orchids and a haunter of far-away -forests and lonely marshlands and unvisited hill-tops and -mountain-sides. Wherever the lovely hid-folk dwell, there go I. They -are strange flowers, these orchids. When first they were made out of -sunshine, mist, and dew, every color was granted them save one. They -may wear snow-white, rose-red, pearl and gold, green and white, purple -and gold, ivory and rose, yellow, gold and brown, every shade of -crimson and pink. Only the blues are denied them. - -Since that first great day I have found the moccasin flower in many -places--on the top of bare hills and in the black-lands of northern -Canada, where, four feet under the peat, the ice never melts even in -midsummer. Once I saw it by a sphagnum bog where I was hunting for the -almost unknown nest of the Tennessee warbler, amid clouds of black -flies and mosquitoes that stung like fire. Again, on the tip-top of -Mount Pocono in Pennsylvania, I had just found the long-sought nest of -a chestnut-sided warbler. Even as I admired the male bird, with his -white cheeks and golden head and chestnut-streaked sides, and the four -eggs like flecked pink pearls, my eye caught a sight which brought me -to my knees regardless for a moment of nest, eggs, birds, and all. -Among rose-hearted twin-flowers and wild lilies of the valley and -snowy dwarf cornels swung three moccasin flowers in a line. The outer -ones, like the guard-stars of great Altair, were light in color. -Between them gleamed, like the Eagle Star itself, a flower of deepest -rose, an unearthly crystalline color, like a rain-drenched jacinth. - -Another time, at the crest of a rattlesnake den, I found two of these -pink pearls of the woods swinging above the velvet-black coils of a -black timber rattlesnake. I picked my way down the mountain-side, with -Beauty in one hand and Death in the other, as I romantically remarked -to the unimpressed snake-collector who was waiting for me with an open -gunny-sack. - -Then there was the day in the depths of the pine-barrens, where -stunted, three-leaved pitch pines took the place of the towering, -five-leaved white pine of the North. The woods looked like a -shimmering pool of changing greens lapping over a white sand-land that -had been thrust up from the South into the very heart of the North. I -followed a winding wood-path along the high bank of a stream stained -brown and steeped sweet with a million cedar-roots. A mountain laurel -showed like a beautiful ghost against the dark water--a glory of -white, pink-flecked flowers. - -Through dripping branches of withewood and star-leaved sweet-gum -saplings the path twisted. Suddenly, at the very edge of the bank, out -of a mass of hollow, crimson-streaked leaves filled with clear water, -swung two glorious blossoms. Wine-red, aquamarine, pearl-white, and -pale gold they gleamed and nodded from slender stems. It was the -pitcher-plant, which I had never seen in blossom before. - -From the stream the hidden path wound through thicket after thicket, -sweet as spring, with the fragrance of the wild magnolia and the -spicery of the gray-green bayberry. Its course was marked with white -sand, part of the bed of some sea forgotten a hundred thousand years -ago. By the side of the path showed the vivid crimson-lake leaves of -the wild ipecac, with its strange green flowers; while everywhere, as -if set in snow, gleamed the green-and-gold of the Hudsonia, the -barrens-heather. The plants looked like tiny cedar trees laden down -with thickly set blossoms of pure gold, which the wind spilled in -little yellow drifts on the white sand. In the distance, through the -trees, were glimpses of meadows, hazy-purple with the blue toad-flax. -Beside the path showed here and there the pale gold of the -narrow-leaved sundrops, with deep-orange stamens. Beyond were masses -of lambskill, with its fatal leaves and crimson blossoms. - -On and on the path led, past jade-green pools in which gleamed buds of -the yellow pond-lily, like lumps of floating gold. Among them were -blossoms of the paler golden-club, which looked like the tongue of a -calla lily. At last the path stretched straight toward the flat-topped -mound that showed dim and fair through the low trees. The woods became -still. Even the Maryland yellow-throat stopped singing, the prairie -warbler no longer drawled his lazy notes, and the chewink, black and -white and red all over, like the newspaper in the old conundrum, -stopped calling his name from the thickets and singing, "Drink your -tea!" - -I knew that at last I had come upon a fairy hill, such an one wherein -the shepherd heard a host of tiny voices singing a melody so haunting -sweet that he always after remembered it, and which has since come -down to us of to-day as the tune of Robin Adair. Listen as I would, -however, there was no sound from the depths of this hill. Perhaps the -sun was too high, for the fairy-folk sing best in late twilight or -early dawn. - -The mound, like all fairy hills, was guarded. The path ran into a -tangle of sand-myrtle, with vivid little oval green leaves and -feathery white, pink-centred blossoms. Just beyond stood a bush of -poison-sumac. Pushing aside the fierce branches, I went unscathed up -the mound. At its very edge was another sentry. From under my feet -sounded a deep, fierce hiss, and there across the path stretched the -great body of a pine snake fully six feet long, all cream-white and -umber-brown. Raising its strange pointed head, with its gold and black -eyes, it hissed fearsomely. I had learned, however, that a pine -snake's hiss is worse than its bite and, when I poked its rough, -mottled body with my foot, it gave up pretending to be a dangerous -snake and lazily moved off to some spot where it would not be -disturbed by intruding humans. - -The pyxies had carpeted the side of the mound thick with their -wine-red and green moss, starred with hundreds of flat, five-petaled -white blossoms. This celebrated pyxie moss is not a moss at all, but a -tiny shrub. Near the summit of the mound the path was lost in a foam -of the blue, lilac, and white butterfly blossoms of the lupine. Little -clouds of fragrance drifted through the air, as the wind swayed rows -and rows of the transparent bells of the leucothoe. Beyond the lupine -stood a rank of dazzling white turkey-beards, the xerophyllum of the -botanists. The inmost circle of the mound was carpeted with dry gray -reindeer moss, and before me, in the centre of the circle, drooped on -slender stems seven rose-red moccasin flowers. - - They have sought him high, they have sought him low, - They have sought him over down and lea; - They have found him by the milk-white thorn - That guards the gates o' Faerie. - - 'Twas bent beneath and blue above, - Their eyes were held that they might not see - The kine that grazed beneath the knowes; - Oh, they were the Queens o' Faerie. - -If only that day my eyes had been loosed like those of True Thomas, I -too might have seen the fairy queens in all their regal beauty. - -Wherever it be found, the moccasin flower will always hold me by its -sheer beauty. Yet to my memory none of them can approach the -loveliness of that cloistered colony which I first found in the pine -wood so many years ago. Year after year I would visit them. Then came -a time when for five years I was not able to travel to their home. -When, at last, I made my pilgrimage to where they grew, there was no -cathedral of mighty green arches roofed by a shimmering June sky; -there were no aisles of softly singing trees; and there were no rows -of sweet faces looking up at me and waiting for my coming; only heaps -of sawdust and hideous masses of lopped branches showed where a steam -sawmill had cut its deadly way. Underneath the fallen dying boughs -which had once waved above the world, companioned only by sky and sun -and the winds of heaven, I found one last starveling blossom left of -all her lovely company. Protected no longer by the sheltering boughs, -she was bleached nearly white by the sun, and her stem crept crookedly -along the ground underneath the mass of brush and litter which had -once been a carpet of gold. Never since that day have I visited the -place where my friends wait for me no more. - -It was another orchid which, for eleven years, on the last day of -every June, made me travel two hundred miles due north. From an old -farmhouse on the edge of the Berkshires I would start out in the -dawn-dusk on the first day of every July. The night-hawks would still -be twanging above me as I followed, before sunrise, a dim silent road -over the hills all sweet with the scent of wild-grape and the drugged -perfume of chestnut tassels. At last I would reach a barway sunken in -masses of sweet-fern and shaded by thickets of alder and witch-hazel. -There a long-forgotten wood-road led to my Land of Heart's Desire. -Parting the branches, I would step into the hush of the sleeping wood, -pushing my way through masses of glossy, dark-green Christmas ferns -and clumps of feathery, tossing maidenhair. Black-throated blue -warblers sang above, and that ventriloquist, the oven bird, would call -from apparently a long way off, "Teacher, teacher, teacher," ending -with a tremendous "TEACH!" right under my feet. - -At last there would loom up through the green tangle a squat broken -white pine. That was my landmark. I would push my way through a tangle -of sanicle, and beyond the trunk of a slim elm catch a gleam of white -in the dusk. There, all rose-red and snow-white, with parted lips, -waited for me the queen flower of the woods, the _Cypripedium reginę_, -the loveliest of all our orchids. Two narrow, white, beautiful curved -petals stretched out at right angles, while above them towered a white -sepal, the three together making a snowy cross. Below this cross hung -the lip of the flower, a milk-white hollow shell fully an inch across -and an inch deep, veined with crystalline pink which deepened into -purple, growing more intense in color until the veins massed in a -network of vivid violet just under the curved lips kissed by many a -wandering wood-bee. Inside the shell were spots of intense purple, -showing through the transparent walls. The other two white sepals were -joined together and hung as a single one behind the lip. - -[Illustration: PINK AND WHITE LADY SLIPPERS (_Cypripedium reginę_)] - -I had first found this orchid while hunting for a veery's nest in the -marsh. At that time nothing was showing except the leaves, which grow -on tall, round, downy stems. They were beautifully curved at the -margin, and were of a brilliant green, a little lighter on the under -side than on the upper, and, at first sight, much like the leaves of -the well-known marsh hellebore. That day was the beginning of a -ten-year tryst which I kept every summer with this wood-queen. Then, -alas, I lost her! - -It came about thus. The marsh in which she hid was part of a thousand -acres owned by a friend of mine, who was an enthusiastic and rival -flower-hunter. Each year, when I visited my colony of these queen -orchids, I sent him one with my compliments and the assurance that the -flower belonged to him because it was found on his land. I accompanied -these gifts with various misleading messages as to where they grew. He -would hunt and hunt, but find nothing but exasperation. Finally, he -bribed me, with an apple-wood corner cupboard I had long coveted, to -show him the place. It was not fifty yards from the road, and when I -took him to it he was overcome with emotion. - -"I'll bet that I have tramped a hundred miles," he said plaintively, -"through every spot on this farm except this one, looking for this -flower. Nobody who knew anything about botany would ever think of -looking here." - -The next year my wood-lady did not meet me, nor the next, and I -strongly suspect that she has been transplanted to some secret spot -known to my unscrupulous botanical friend alone. Moreover, he has -never yet paid me that corner cupboard. - -I never saw the flower again until last summer I visited a marsh in -northern New Jersey, where I had been told by another orchid-hunter -that it grew. This marsh I was warned was a dangerous one. Cattle and -men, too, in times past have perished in its depths. For eight -unexplored miles it stretched away in front of me. After many -wanderings I at length found my way to Big Spring, a murky, malevolent -pool set in dark woods, with the marsh stretching away beyond. - -Not far away, in a limestone cliff, I came upon a deep burrow, in -front of which was a sinister pile of picked bones of all sizes and -shapes. The sight suggested delightful possibilities. Panthers, -wolves, ogres--anything might belong to such a pile of bones as that. -I knew, however, that the last New Jersey wolf was killed a century or -so ago. The burrow was undoubtedly too small for a panther, or even an -undersized ogre. Accordingly I was compelled reluctantly to assign the -den to the more commonplace bay-lynx, better known as the wild-cat. - -On these limestone rocks I found the curious walking-fern, which loves -limestone and no other. Both of the cliff brakes were there, too--the -slender, with its dark, fragile, appealing beauty, and its hardier -sister, the winter-brake, whose leathery fronds are of a strange -blue-green, a color not found in any other plant. Then there was the -rattlesnake fern, a lover of deep and dank woods, with its -golden-yellow seed-cluster, or 'rattle,' growing from the centre of -its fringed leaves. The oddest of all the ferns was the maidenhair -spleen-wort, whose tiny leaves are of the shape of those of the -well-known maidenhair fern. When they are exposed to bright sunlight, -all the fertile leaves which have seeds on their surface suddenly -begin to move, and for three or four minutes vibrate back and forth as -rapidly as the second-hand of a watch. - -Farther and farther I pushed on into the treacherous marsh, picking my -way from tussock to tussock. Now and then my foot would slip into -black, quivering mire, thinly veiled by marsh-grasses. When this -happened, the whole swamp would shake and chuckle and lap at the -skull-shaped tussocks and the bleached skeletons of drowned trees -which showed here and there. At last, when I had almost given up hope, -I came upon a clump of the regal flowers growing, not in the swamp -itself, but on a shaded bank sloping down from the encircling woods. -Three of the plants had two flowers each, the rest only one. Among -these was a single blossom, pure white without a trace of pink or -purple. Although it was only the thirtieth of June, several of the -flowers were already slightly withered and past their prime, showing -that this orchid is at its best in New Jersey in the middle of June, -rather than the end of the month, as in Connecticut. The perfect -flowers were beautiful orchids, and had a rich fragrance which I had -never noticed in my Connecticut specimens. Yet, in some way, to me -they lacked the charm and loveliness of my lost flowers of the North. - - * * * * * - -It was a cold May day. The Ornithologist and myself were climbing Kent -Mountain, along with Jim Pan, the last of the Pequots. Whenever Jim -drank too much hard cider, which was as often as he could get it, he -would give terrible war-whoops and tell how many palefaces his -ancestors had scalped. He would usually end by threatening to do some -free-hand scalping on his own account--but he never did. He had a son -named Tin Pan, who never talked unless he had something to say, which -was not more than once or twice during the year. - -The two lived all alone, in a little cabin on the slope of Kent -Mountain. On the outside of Jim's door some wag once painted a skull -and crossbones, one night when Jim was away on a hunt for some of the -aforesaid hard cider. When the Last of the Pequots came back and saw -what had been done, he swore mightily that he would leave said -insignia there until he could wash them out with the heart's blood of -the gifted artist. They still show faintly on the door, although Jim -has slept for many a year in the little Indian cemetery on the -mountain, beside his great-aunt Eunice who lived to be one hundred and -four years old. Lest it may appear that Jim was an unduly fearsome -Indian, let me hasten to add that there was never a kinder, happier, -or more untruthful Pequot from the beginning to the end of that -long-lost tribe. - -On that day the Ornithologist and myself were on our way to a -rattlesnake den, the secret of which had been in the Pan family for -some generations. In past years Jim's forbears had done a thriving -business in selling skins and rattlesnake oil, in the days when the -rattlesnake shared with the skunk the honor of providing an unwilling -cure for rheumatism. Our path led up through masses of color. There -was the pale pure pink of the crane's-bill or wild geranium, the -yellow adder's tongue, and the faint blue-and-white porcelain petals -of the hepatica, with cluster after cluster of the snowy, -golden-hearted bloodroot whose frail blossoms last but for a day. - -That very morning a long-delayed warbler-wave was breaking over the -mountain, and the Ornithologist could hardly contain himself as he -watched the different varieties pass by. I recall that we scored over -twenty different kinds of warblers between dawn and dark, and I saw -for the first time the Wilson's black-cap, with its bright yellow -breast and tiny black crown, and the rare Cape May warbler, with its -black-streaked yellow underparts and orange-red cheeks. The richly -dressed and sombre black-throated blue and bay-breasted were among the -crowd, while black-throated greens, myrtles, magnolias, -chestnut-sided, blackpolls, Canadians, redstarts, with their -fan-shaped tails, and Blackburnians, with their flaming throats and -breasts glowing like live coals, went by in a never-ending procession. - -All the way Jim kept up a steady flow of anecdote. I can remember -only one, a blood-curdling story about a man from Bridgeport, name not -given, who caught a rattlesnake while on a hunt with Jim, but who let -go while attempting to put it into the bag, whereupon the rattlesnake -bit him as it dropped. - -"Did he die?" queried the writer and the Ornithologist in chorus. - -"No," said Jim proudly; "Tin and I saved his life." - -"Whiskey?" ventured the writer. - -"Not for snake-bites," responded Jim simply. - -"Well, how was it?" persisted the Ornithologist, hoping to learn of -some mysterious Indian remedy. - -"Well," said Jim, stretching out his tremendous arms like a great -bear, "I held him tight and Tin here burned the place out. It took two -matches and he yelled somethin' terrible. I told him we were savin' -his life, but the fool said he would rather die of snake-bite than be -burned to death. You wouldn't suppose a grown man would make such a -fuss over two little matches." - -Finally, we reached the Den, a ledge of rocks near the top of the -mountain, where for some unknown reason all the rattlesnakes for miles -around were accustomed to hibernate during the winter and to remain -for some weeks in the late spring before scattering through the -valley. The Ornithologist and I fell unobtrusively to the rear, while -the dauntless Pan led the van with a crotched stick. Suddenly Jim -thrust one foot up into the air like a toe-dancer, and pirouetted with -amazing rapidity on the other. He had been in the very act of stepping -over a small huckleberry-bush, when he noted under its lee a -rattlesnake in coil, about the size of a peck measure--as pretty a -death-trap as was ever set in the woods. By the time I got there, Jim -had pinned the hissing heart-shaped head down with his forked stick, -while the bloated, five-foot body was thrashing through the air in -circles, the rattles whirring incessantly. - -"Grab him just back of the stick," panted Jim, bearing down with all -his weight, "and put him in the bag." - -I paused. - -"You're not scared, are you?" he inquired; while Tin, who had hurried -up with a gunny-sack, regarded me reproachfully. - -"Certainly not," I assured him indignantly, "but I don't want to be -selfish. Let Tin do it." - -"No," said Jim firmly, "you're company. Tin can pick up rattlesnakes -any day." - -"Well, how about my friend?" I rejoined weakly. - -The Ornithologist, who had been watching the scene from the far -background, spoke up for himself. - -"I wouldn't touch that damn snake," he said earnestly, "for eleven -million dollars." - -At this profanity the rattlesnake started another paroxysm of -struggling, while his rattle sounded like an alarm-clock. When he -stopped to rest, the Ornithologist raised his price to an even -billion--in gold. It was evident that I was the white man's hope. It -would never do to let two members of a conquered race see a pale-face -falter. Remembering Deerslayer at the stake, Daniel Boone, and sundry -other brave white men without a cross, I set my teeth, gripped the -rough, cold, scaly body just back of the crotched stick, and lifted. -The great snake's black, fixed, devilish eyes looked into mine. If, in -this world, there are peep-holes into hell, they are found in the eyes -of an enraged rattlesnake. As he came clear of the ground, he coiled -round my arm to the elbow, so that the rattles sounded not a foot from -my ear. Although the rattlesnake is not a constrictor, and there was -no real danger, yet under the touch of his body my arm quivered like a -tuning-fork. - -"What makes your arm shake so?" queried Jim, watching me critically. - -"It's probably rheumatism," I assured him. - -Suddenly, under my grip, the snake's mouth opened, showing on either -side of the upper jaw ridges of white gum. From these suddenly flashed -the movable fangs which are always folded back until ready for use. -They were hollow and of a glistening white. Halfway down on the side -of each was a tiny hole, from which the yellow venom slowly oozed. I -began tremulously to unwind my unwelcome armlet, while Tin waited with -the open bag. - -"Be sure you take your hand away quick after you drop him in," advised -Jim. - -"Don't you worry about that," I replied; "no man will ever get his -hand away quicker than I'm going to." - -[Illustration: THE KING OF THE FOREST--THE BANDED RATTLESNAKE] - -Whereupon I unwound the rattling coils from my arm, and then broke all -speed records in removing my hand from the neighborhood of that snake. -This was my first introduction to the King of the Dark Places, the -grim timber rattlesnake, the handsomest of all the thirteen varieties -found within the United States. - -On my way back from the den it was Jim Pan who pointed out to me on -the lower slope of the mountain the beautiful showy orchid (_Orchis -spectabilis_). Between two oblong shining green leaves grew a loose -spike of purple-pink and white butterfly blossoms. This is the first -of the orchids to appear, and no more exquisite or beautiful flower -could head the procession which stretches from May until September. I -find this flower but seldom, usually because I am not in the -hill-country early enough, although once I found a perfect flower in -bloom as late as Decoration Day, a left-over from the first spring -flowers. - -It was Jim, too, that day, who quite appropriately showed me the -rattlesnake plantain (_Goodyera pubescens_), with its rosette of green -leaves heavily veined with white, from the centre of which in late -summer grows a spike of crowded, greenish-white flowers. Under the -doctrine of signatures, these leaves are still thought by many to be a -sure cure for the bite of a rattlesnake. Personally, I would rather -rely on a sharp knife and permanganate of potash. In the same group as -the rattlesnake plantain are several varieties of lady's tresses, -which grow in every damp meadow in midsummer and early fall. Little -spikes of greenish-white flowers they are, growing out of what looks -like a twisted or braided stem. Of them all the most interesting to me -is the grass-leaved lady's tresses (_Gyrostachys pręcox_), where the -flowers grow round and round the stem in a perfect spiral. - -As I went on with my hunting, I learned that not all the members of -the orchis family are beautiful. There is the coral root, with tiny -dull brownish-purple flowers, which one finds growing in dry woods, -often near colonies of the Indian pipe. The green and the -ragged-fringed orchids are other disappointing members. Yet, to a -confirmed collector, even these poor relations of the family are full -of interest. In fact, the second rarest orchid of our American -list--the celebrated crane-fly orchid (_Tipularia unifolia_)--has a -series of insignificant greenish-purple blossoms which look as much -like mosquitoes or flies as anything else, and can be detected only -with the greatest difficulty. Yet I am planning to take a journey of -several hundred miles this very summer on the off-chance of seeing one -of these flowers. Nearly as rare is the strange ram's-head -lady's-slipper (_Cypripedium arietinum_), the rarest of all the -cypripedia and belonging to the same family as the glorious moccasin -flower and queen flower. The lip of the ram's-head consists of a -strange greenish pouch with purple streaks, shaped like the head of a -ram. - -There are scores of other odd, often lovely, and usually rare, members -of the great orchis family, which can be met with from May to -September. There is the beautiful golden whip-poor-will's shoe, in two -sizes (_Cypripedium hirsutum_, and _Cypripedium parviflorum_), and -those lovely nymphs, rose-purple Arethusa (_Arethusa bulbosa_), and -Calypso (_Calypso borealis_), with her purple blossom varied with pink -and shading to yellow. - -One of the fascinations of orchid-hunting is the fact that you may -suddenly light upon a strange orchid growing in a place which you have -passed for years. Such a happening came to me the day when I first -found the rose pogonia (_Pogonia ophioglossoides_). I was following a -cow-path through the hard hack pastures which I had traveled perhaps a -hundred times before. Suddenly, as I came to the slope of the upper -pasture, growing in the wet bank of the deep-cut trail, my eye caught -sight of a little flower of the purest rose-pink, the color of the -peach-blossom, with a deeply fringed drooping lip, the whole flower -springing from a slender stem with oval, grass-like leaves. To me it -had a fragrance like almonds, although others have found in it the -scent of sweet violets or of fresh raspberries. It is the pogonia -family which includes the rarest of all of our orchids, the almost -unknown smaller whorled pogonia (_Pogonia affinis_). Few indeed have -been the botanists who have seen even a pressed specimen of this -strange flower. - -Two weeks after I found the rose pogonia, I came again to visit her. -To my astonishment and delight, by her side was growing another -orchid, like some purple-pink butterfly which had alighted on a long -swaying stem. It was no other than the beautiful grass-pink -(_Limodorum tuberosum_), which blooms in July, while the pogonia comes -out in late June. The grass-pink has from two to six blossoms on each -stem, and the yellow lip is above instead of below the flower, as in -the case of most orchids. Years later I was to find this orchid -growing by scores in the pine-barrens. - -Last, but by no means least, is the great genus _Habenaria_--the -exquisite fringed orchids. Purple, white, gold, green--they wear all -these colors. He who has never seen either the large or the small -purple fringed orchid growing in the June or July meadows, or the -flaming yellow fringed orchid all orange and gold in the August -meadows, has still much for which to live. - -It was with an orchid of this genus that I had my most recent -adventure. I had traveled with the Botanist into the heart of the -pine-barrens. There may be places where more flowers and rarer flowers -and sweeter flowers grow than in these barrens, but if so, the -Botanist and I have never found the spot. From the early spring, when -the water freezes in the hollow leaves of the pitcher-plant, to the -last gleam of the orange polygala in the late fall, we are always -finding something rare and new. On that August day we followed a dim -path that led through thickets of scrub-oak and sweet pepper-bush. By -its side grew clumps of deer-grass, with its purple-pink petals and -masses of orange-colored stamens. Sometimes the path would disappear -from sight in masses of hudsonia and sand-myrtle. Everywhere above the -blueberry bushes flamed the regal Turk's-cap lily, with its curved -fire-red petals. On high the stalks towered above a tangle of lesser -plants bearing great candelabra of glorious blossoms. - -Finally, we came to a little ditch which some forgotten -cranberry-grower had dug through the barrens to a long-deserted bog. -On its side grew the rare thread-leafed sundew, with its long -thread-like leaf covered with tiny red hairs and speckled thick with -glittering drops of dew; while here and there little insects, which -had alighted on the sweet, fatal drops, were enmeshed in the -entangling hairs. Well above the line of strangled insects on which it -fed, a pink blossom smiled unconcernedly. Like the attractive lady -mentioned in Proverbs, her house goes down into the chambers of death. - -As we followed the dike, the air was sweet with the perfume of white -alder. The long stream of brown cedar-water was starred white with -gleaming, fragrant water-lilies. In a marsh by the ditch grew clumps -of cotton-grass or pussytoes, each stem of which bore a tuft of soft -brown wool, like the down which a mother rabbit pulls from her breast -when she lines her nest for her babies. - -At last we came to the abandoned cranberry bog. Suddenly the Botanist -jumped into the ditch, splashed his way across, and disappeared in the -bog, waving his arms over his head. I found him on his knees in the -wet sphagnum moss, chanting ecstatically the mystic word -"Blephariglottis." In front of him, on a green stem, was clustered a -mass of little flowers of incomparable whiteness, with fringed lips -and long spikes. One petal bent like a canopy over the brown stamens, -while the other two flared out on either side, like the wings of tiny -white butterflies. It was the white-fringed orchid (_Habenaria -blephariglottis_). Beside her whiteness even the snowy petals of the -water-lily and the white alder showed yellow tones. Like El Nath among -the stars, the white fringed orchid is the standard of whiteness for -the flowers. - -Three great blue herons flew over our heads, folded their wings, and -alighted not thirty yards away--an unheard-of proceeding for this wary -bird. A Henslow sparrow sang his abrupt and, to us, almost unknown -song. The Botanist neither saw nor heard. All the way home he was in a -blissful daze, and when I said good-bye to him at the station, he only -murmured happily "Blephariglottis." - -[Illustration: THE GREAT BLUE HERON AT BREAKFAST] - - - - -X - -THE MARSH DWELLERS - - -The sweet, hot, wild scent of the marsh came up to us. It was -compounded of sun and wind and the clean dry smell of miles and miles -of bleaching sedges, all mingled with the seethe and steam of a green -blaze of growth that had leaped from the ooze to meet the summer. -Through it all drifted tiny elusive puffs of fragrance from flowers -hidden under thickets of willow and elderberry. The smooth petals of -wild roses showed among the rushes, like coral set in jade. On the -sides of burnt tussocks, where the new grass grew sparse as hair on a -scarred skull, rue anemones trembled above their trefoil leaves. When -the world was young they sprang from the tears which Aphrodite shed -over the body of slain Adonis. Still the pale wind-driven flowers sway -as if shaken by her sobs, and have the cold whiteness of him dead. - -The leaves of the meadow rue, like some rare fern, showed here and -there, but the clustered white flowers had not yet bloomed, nor the -flat yellow blossoms of the shrubby cinquefoil. There were thickets of -aronia or chokeberry, whose flat white blossoms and reddish bark -showed its kinship to the apple tree. Among the pools gleamed marsh -marigolds fresh from the mint of May, while deep down in the grass at -the foot of the tussocks were white violets, short-stemmed and with -the finest of umber-brown traceries at the centre of their petals. The -blues and purples may or may not be sweet, but one can always count on -the faint fragrance of the white. - -We lay on the turf covering a ledge of smoky quartz thrust like a -wedge into the marsh. Across a country of round green hills and -fertile farms its squat bulk stretched unafraid, an untamed monster of -another age. Beyond the long levels we could see Wolf Island, where a -hunted wolf-pack, protected by quagmires and trembling bogs, made its -last stand two centuries ago. Where a fringe of trees showed the -beginning of solid ground, a pair of hawks with long black-barred -tails wheeled and screamed through the sky. "Geck, geck, geck, geck," -they called, almost like a flicker, except that the tone was flatter. -As they circled, both of them showed a snowy patch over the rump, the -field-mark of the marsh hawk. The male was a magnificent blue-gray -bird, whose white under-wings were tipped with black like those of a -herring gull. We watched them delightedly, for the rare nest of the -marsh hawk, the only one of our hawks which nests on the ground, was -one of the possibilities of the marsh. - -Suddenly we heard from behind us a sound that sent us crawling -carefully up to the crest of the ridge. It was like the pouring of -water out of some gigantic bottle or the gurgling suck of an -old-fashioned pump: "Bloop--bloop, bloop, bloop, bloop"--it came to us -with a strange subterranean timbre. The last time I had heard that -note was in the pine-barrens three years before. Then it sounded like -the thudding of a mallet on a stake, for its quality always depends on -the nature of the country across which it travels. From the top of our -knoll we saw a rare sight. In the open pasture by the edge of the -marsh stood a bird between two and three feet high, of a streaked -brown color, with a black stripe down each side of its neck. Even as -we watched, the bird began a series of extraordinary actions. Hunching -its long neck far down between its shoulders, it suddenly thrust it -up. As each section straightened, there came to us across the pasture -the thudding, bubbling, watery note which we had first heard. It -seemed impossible that a bird could make such a volume of sound. At -times, after each "bloop," would come the sharp click of the bill as -it rapidly opened and shut. Finally the singer convulsively -straightened the last kink out of its neck and with a last retching -note thrust its long yellow beak straight skyward. We had seen an -American bittern boom--a rarer sight even than the drumming of a -ruffed grouse or the strange flight-song of the woodcock at twilight. -Suddenly the bittern stopped and, hunching its neck, stepped -stealthily, like a little old bent man, into the sedges. With its long -beak pointing directly upward, it stood motionless and seemed to melt -into the color of the withered rushes. One look away, and it was -almost impossible for the eye to pick the bird out from its cover. - -I turned to look at the marsh hawks just in time to see the female -alight on the ground by a stunted willow bush far across the marsh. I -waited, one, two, three minutes, but no bird rose. Evidently she was -on the nest. Keeping my eye fixed on that special bush, which looked -like a score of others, I plunged into the marsh, intending to bound -like a chamois from crag to crag. On the second bound I slipped off a -tussock and went up to my knees in mud and water. The rest of the way -I ploughed along, making a noise at each step like the bittern's note. -Half-way to the bush, the mother hawk rose and circled around us, -screaming monotonously. For half an hour we searched back and forth -without finding any nest. At last we hid in a willow thicket, thinking -that perhaps the hawk might go back to her nest. Instead, both birds -disappeared in some distant woods. The sun was getting low and we were -miles from our inn; yet as this was the nearest either of us had ever -been to finding a marsh hawk's nest, we decided to hunt on until dark. - -[Illustration: THE MARSH HAWK'S NEST] - -I laid out a route from my bush to another about thirty yards away, -and between those two as bounds planned to quarter back and forth over -every square foot of ground, moving toward the woods where the hawks -had gone. It seemed an almost hopeless hunt, for the marsh at this -point was dry, with patches of bushes, masses of sedge, and piled -heaps here and there of dry rushes. As I reached my farther boundary -and was about to return, I straightened my aching back and looked -beyond the bush. There, directly ahead, in a space fringed by spirea -bushes but in plain sight, lay a round nest on the ground--about -eight inches across and three inches deep, made of coarse grasses -ringed around with rushes. Beneath the nest was a well-packed platform -several inches thick. I think that this was a natural pile of rushes -pressed down by the bird. There, under the open sky, were five large -eggs of a dirty bluish-white, nearly ready to hatch. They were the -size of a small hen's egg. The very second I caught sight of the nest -the mother hawk came dashing through the air, from some unseen perch -where she had been watching me with her telescopic eyes. Fifty feet -away, she folded her wings and dived at my head, falling through the -air like a stone. With her fierce unflinching eyes, half-open beak, -and outspread claws, she looked dangerous. Ten feet away, however, she -swooped up and circled off in ever-widening rings, screaming -mournfully. Beside the nest was one barred tail-feather. - - I crossed a moor, with a name of its own - And a certain use in the world no doubt, - Yet a hand's-breadth of it shines alone - 'Mid the blank miles round about: - - For there I picked up on the heather - And there I put inside my breast - A moulted feather, an eagle-feather! - Well, I forget the rest. - -Something of this we felt as we lingered over this long-sought nest, -making notes and photographs--our way of collecting. - -Just at sunset we waded back and stopped at the little arm of the -swamp where we had first heard the bittern. Suddenly from the sedges -came a scolding little song that sounded like "Chop, chip-chop, -chp'p'p'p'," and we caught the merest glimpse of a tiny bird with a -tip-tilted tail and brown back whose undersides seemed yellowish. It -was none other than the rare short-billed marsh wren, next to the -smallest of our Eastern birds, only the hummingbird being tinier. -Neither of us had ever seen this marsh wren before, and we tramped -back three long miles to town with a new bird, a new nest, and a new -note to our credit in our out-of-doors account. - -That night over a good dinner we were joined by the other two of our -Four who for many happy years have hunted together. Just at dawn the -next day, we all stole out of the sleeping inn and along the silent -village streets, sweet with the scent of lilacs. Right in front of the -town hall we found the first nest of the day. Cunningly hidden in the -crotch of a sugar maple, just over the heads of hundreds of unseeing -passers-by, a robin had brooded day by day over four eggs whose -heavenly blue made a jewel-casket of her mud nest. I hope that the -brave silent bird raised her babies and sent them out to add to the -world's store of music and beauty. - -Beyond the village we dragged a meadow. A long cord was tied to the -ankles of two of us, and each walked away from the other until it was -taut and then marched slowly through the fields. The moving line just -swished the top of the long grass and flushed any ground birds that -might be nesting within the area covered by the fifty-foot cord. Our -first haul was a vesper sparrow's nest with one egg--the bird breaking -cover near my end. Later in the day another of our party found a -better nest of the same bird in the middle of a field, made and lined -with grass and set in a little hollow in the ground. It held three -eggs of a bluish white, blotched and clouded with umber and lavender -at the larger ends. Two of the eggs were marked with black -hieroglyphics like those seen in the eggs of an oriole or red-winged -blackbird. The vesper is that gray sparrow which shows two white -tail-feathers when it flies, and sings an alto song whose first two -notes are always in a different key from the rest of the strain. - -In another field we flushed a bobolink. Unfortunately the Artist, -whose duty it was to watch the rope, was at the moment gazing skywards -at cloud-effects, and though we burrowed and peered for a full hour in -the fragrant dripping grass, we never found that nest. The home of a -bobolink is one of the best hidden of all of our common -ground-builders. I remember one Decoration Day when I highly resolved -to find a bobolink's nest in a field where several pairs were nesting. -Early in my hunt I decided that the gay black-and-white males, which -seemed to be flying and singing aimlessly, were really signaling my -approach to the females on the nests. At any rate, the mother birds -would rise far ahead as I came near, evidently after having run for -long distances through the grass, and gave me no clue as to the -whereabouts of their nests. I decided, however, that my only chance -was to watch these females, knowing that an incubating bird will not -leave her eggs for any great length of time. Accordingly, when the -next streaked brown bird flew up far ahead of me, I settled down in -the long grass with a field-glass and carefully watched her flight. -She crossed the meadow and alighted some three hundred yards away. In -about fifteen minutes she came back and settled in the grass on a -slope some distance from where she had flown out. Almost immediately -she flew out again, probably warned by the male on guard. Once more -she crossed the meadow, and this time stayed away so long that I -nearly fell asleep in the drowsy, scented grass. In the meantime, one -by one, the songs of the males, like the tinkling, gurgling notes of a -trout-brook, ceased, and my part of the meadow seemed deserted. -Finally through my half-shut eyes I saw Mrs. Bobolink come flying low -over the tops of the waving grass. As I lay perfectly still, she made -a half-circle around the slope and suddenly disappeared in the ripple -of a green wave that rose to meet the wind. I marked the place by a -tall weed stalk, and waited a minute to see whether this was another -feint. As she did not appear, I ran up as rapidly and silently as -possible before the father bird could spy me from the other side of -the pasture and cry the alarm. Perhaps he had become careless while -rollicking with his friends. At any rate, when I reached the place -there was no sign of any bobolink near me. - -When I was a couple of yards away from the weed-stalk, up sprang the -female bobolink, apparently from almost the very spot I had noted. -This was encouraging; it showed that she had not run through the grass -any distance this time, either when flushed or when alighting. Almost -immediately the truant father bird appeared and sang gayly near me, -occasionally diving mysteriously and impressively into the grass in -different places, as if visiting a nest. I was not to be distracted by -any such tactics, but threw my hat to the exact spot from which, as I -judged, the female had started. With this as a centre I pushed back -the long grass and began to search the area of a five-foot circle, -first looking hurriedly under the hat to make sure that it had not -covered the nest. My search was all in vain, although it seemed to me -that I examined every square inch of that circle. At last I decided -that the sly birds had again deceived me. Taking up my hat, I was -about to begin another watch, when, in the very spot where the hat had -lain, I noticed that the long leaves of a narrow-leafed plantain at -one place had been parted, showing a hole underneath. I carefully -separated the leaves, and before me lay the long-desired nest. It was -only a shallow hollow under the leaves, lined with fine dry grass and -containing four dark eggs heavily blotched and marbled with red-brown. - -It is probable that ordinarily, when the mother bird left the nest, -she would arrange the leaves so as entirely to cover the hole beneath. -If this were done, it would seem impossible that they concealed -anything, for they would be apparently flat on the surface of the -ground. My unexpected approach had flushed her before she had time to -put back the leaves. - -The pleasure of finding such a skilfully concealed nest is -indescribable. The hunt is a contest between intelligence and -instinct, where victory by no means always inclines to the human. As I -looked down at the nest, I knew just how the talented recluse in "The -Gold Bug" felt when, after solving the cryptogram and disposing of -every difficulty, he at last gazed into the open treasure-chest. - -To-day there was to be no such glorious experience, and we finally -gave up the hunt and started back across the meadow. As we moved -through the swishing grass, suddenly we heard a curious clicking -bird-note. "See-lick, see-lick, see-lick," it sounded, and we -recognized the unfamiliar notes of that rare little black-striped -sparrow, the Henslow. The last time we four had heard that note -together was on a trip into the heart of the pine-barrens, when we not -only identified this bird for the first time, but also found its nest, -a treasure-trove indeed. To-day we did not even get a glimpse of the -bird. - -Beyond the meadows we came face to face with the marsh itself, and -plunged in to show the Banker and the Architect our marsh hawk's nest. -On the way back the Artist made a discovery. Waist-deep among the -sedges, with the tiny marsh wrens chipping and bubbling all around -him, he suddenly espied a round ball made of green grass fastened to -the rushes with a little hole in one side. - -"The nest of the short-billed marsh wren!" he declared loudly. We -hurried to him. The nest was empty, but, as it was early for the wrens -to be laying, this fact had no effect on his triumph. We admired the -nest, the bird, and the discoverer freely--all except the Architect, -who lingered behind the rest of us, regarding the nest with much -suspicion. Suddenly he noted a movement in the grass, and as he -watched, a tawny little meadow mouse climbed up the grass-stems and -popped into the hole in the side, to find out what this inquisitive -race of giants had been doing to his house. It was pitiful to see the -Artist. At first he denied the mouse. Then, when it dashed out in -front of us, he claimed that its presence had nothing to do with the -question of the ownership of the nest. - -"Isn't it possible," he demanded bitterly, "that a well-behaved meadow -mouse may make a neighborly call on a marsh wren?" - -"No," replied the Architect decisively; and we started away from the -discredited nest. - -Later on, the Artist had his revenge. We were hunting everywhere for -the bittern's nest. Suddenly, as the Artist stepped on a tussock, a -large squawking bird flew out from under his foot. No wonder she -squawked. He had stepped so nearly on top of her that, as she escaped, -she left behind a handful of long, beautifully mottled tail-feathers, -unmistakably those of an English pheasant. The nest was at the side -of the tussock, entirely covered over with the arched reeds, and -contained fifteen eggs, three of which the clumsy foot of the Artist -had broken. They were of a chocolate color and, curiously enough, -almost identical in color and size with those of the American bittern, -except that the inside of the shell of the broken eggs was a light -blue. The nest itself was nearly eight inches across and about three -inches deep, made entirely of grass. Hurriedly clearing away the -broken eggs, we called the Architect from the far side of the marsh. -He hastened up, took one look at the nest, and then told us solemnly -that this was one of the most unusual occurrences known in -ornithology. Three pairs of bitterns had joined housekeeping and laid -eggs in the same nest. It was hard on the Architect that we should -have flushed probably the only bird in the world whose eggs are almost -identical in color and size with those of the American bittern, and it -was not until the Artist produced the pheasant's tail-feathers that -our friend would admit that there was anything wrong with his theory. - -As we started to leave the place, I saw on the other side of the -tussock the largest wood-turtle I have ever met. Its legs and tail -were of a bright brick-red, while the shell was beautifully carved in -deep intaglios of dingy black and yellow. This turtle ranks next to -the terrapin in taste, a fact which I proved the next day. As Mr. -Wood-Turtle is fond of bird's eggs, I strongly suspect that my capture -of him was all that saved the lives of a round dozen of prospective -pheasants. We had a leisurely lunch near one of the coldest bubbling -springs in the world, seated on a high, dry ridge under the shade of a -vast black-walnut tree. After lunch we crossed quaking, treacherous -bogs, that lapped at our feet as we passed, and reached Wolf Island. -It was made up of a series of rocky ridges, shaded with trees and -masked by a dense undergrowth. Beneath the great boulders and at the -base of tiny cliffs, we could trace dark holes and burrows where two -centuries ago the celebrated pack made their home. - -Beyond the Island a tawny bird slipped out of a tussock ahead of me, -like a shadow. Hurrying to the place, I found the perfectly rounded -nest of a veery thrush, lined with leaves and entirely arched over by -the long marsh-grass. From the brown leaf-bed the four vivid blue eggs -gleamed out of the green grass like turquoises set in malachite. The -eggs of a catbird are of a deeper blue, and those of a hermit thrush -of a purer tone, but of all the blue eggs, of robin, wood thrush, -hermit thrush, bluebird, cuckoo, or catbird, there is none so vivid in -its coloring as that of the veery. That nest with its beautiful -setting stands out in my mind as a notable addition to my collection -of out-of-door memories. - -More searchings followed without results, until the sun was westering -well down the sky. Five miles lay between us and clean clothes and a -bath. Reluctantly we left the marsh, with our bittern's nest still -unfound. As we approached the village, we saw showing over the meadows -the edge of a continuation of the marsh, and decided that we had time -for just one more exploring trip. Here we found the worst going of the -day. In front of us were innumerable dry cat-tail stalks and hollow -reed-stems, while the mud was deeper and the mosquitoes were fiercer -than in the main swamp. - -At last the Banker and the Architect sat down exhausted under a tree, -while the Artist and myself planned to cross to a fringe of woods on -the farther side before giving up. In the middle of the marsh we -separated, and before long I found myself on the trail of another -marsh hawk's nest. It was evidently close at hand, for both the birds -swooped down and circled around my head, calling frantically all the -time. Look as I would, however, I could find no trace of the nest. We -reached the woods without finding anything and came back together. -When we were within two hundred yards of where the other two were -luxuriously waiting for us in the shade, from under my very feet -flapped a monstrous bird nearly three feet high. It was the bittern. I -was so close that I could see the yellow bill, and the glossy black on -the sides of the neck and tips of the wings, and the different shades -of brown on back, head, and wings. As it sprang up, it gave a hoarse -cry and flapped off with labored strokes of its broad wings. Right -before me was a flat platform of reeds about a foot in diameter, well -packed down and raised about five inches from the water. On this -platform were a shred or so of down and four eggs of a dull coffee -color. In a moment the Banker and the Architect were splashing and -crackling through the mud and reeds, and we spent the last -quarter-hour of our trip in admiring and photographing the -much-desired nest. - -So ended our visit to Wolf Island Marsh with a list of fifty-one birds -seen and heard, and seven nests found, photographed, and enjoyed. - - - - -XI - -THE SEVEN SLEEPERS - - -A thousand and a thousand years ago, seven saints hid from heathen -persecutors among the cold mountains which circle Ephesus. The -multitude who cried, "Great is Diana of the Ephesians!" are drifting -dust, and the vast city itself but a mass of half-buried ruins. Yet -somewhere in a lonely cave sleep those seven holy men, unvexed by -sorrow, untouched by time, until Christ comes again. So runs the -legend. - -It is a far cry to Ephesus, and whether the Seven still sleep there, -who may say? Yet here and now seven other Sleepers live with us, who -slumber through our winters, with hunger and cold and danger but a -dream. Their names I once rhymed for some children of my acquaintance. -As I am credibly advised that the progress of a camel through the eye -of a needle is an easy process compared to having a poem printed by -the Atlantic Press, I hasten to include in this chapter the following -exquisite bit of free verse (I call it free because I don't get -anything extra for it). - - The Bat and the Bear, they never care - What winter winds may blow; - The Jumping-Mouse in his cozy house - Is safe from ice and snow. - - The Chipmunk and the Woodchuck, - The Skunk, who's slow but sure, - The ringed Raccoon, who hates the moon, - Have found for cold the cure. - -Something of the lives of these our brethren of the wild I have tried -to set forth here--because I care for them all. - - * * * * * - -First comes the slyest, the shyest, and the stillest of the Seven--the -blackbear, who yet dwells among men when his old-time companions, the -timber-wolf and the panther, have been long gone. Silent as a shadow, -he is with us far oftener than we know. Only a few years ago bears -were found in New Jersey, in dense cedar-swamps, unsuspected by a -generation of near-by farmers. In Pennsylvania and New York they are -increasing, and I have no doubt that they can still be found in parts -of New England, from which they are supposed to have disappeared a -half-century ago. In fact, it is always unsafe to say that any of the -wild-folk have gone forever. I have lived to see a herd of seven -Virginia deer feeding in my neighbor's cabbage-patch in Connecticut, -although neither my father nor my grandfather ever saw a wild deer in -that state. In that same township I once had a fleeting glimpse of an -otter, and only last winter, within thirty miles of Philadelphia, I -located a colony of beaver. - -The blackbear is nearly as black as a blacksnake, whose color is as -perfect a standard of absolute black on earth as El Nath is of white -among the stars. He has a brownish muzzle and a white diamond-shaped -patch on his breast. Sometimes he is brown, or red, or yellow, or even -white. Not so wise as the wolf, or so fierce as the panther, yet the -blackbear has outlived them both. "When in doubt, _run_!" is his -motto; and like Descartes, the wise blackbear founds his life on the -doctrine of doubt. As for the unwise--they are dead. To be sure, even -this saving rule of conduct would not keep him alive in these days of -repeating rifles, were it not for his natural abilities. A bear can -hear a hunter a quarter of a mile away, and scent one for over a mile -if the wind be right. He may weigh three hundred pounds and be over -two feet wide, yet he will slip like a shadow through tangled -underbrush without a sound. - -Bear-cubs are born in January, after the mother bear has gone into -winter quarters, blind and bare and pink, and so small that two of -them can be held at once on a man's hand. Bears mate every other year, -and the half-grown cubs hibernate with the mother during their second -winter. - -The blackbear is a good swimmer, and may sometimes be seen crossing -lonely lakes in the northern woods. At such times he is an ugly -customer to tackle without a gun, as he will swim straight at a canoe -and tip it over if possible. A friend of mine, while fishing in upper -Canada, on a sluggish river between two lakes, saw a bear swimming -well ahead of the canoe. He began to paddle with all his might to -overtake him, but to his surprise seemed to be moving backwards. -Looking around, he saw his guide, who was more experienced in -bear-ways, backing water desperately. Just then the swimming animal -turned his head and saw the canoe. Instantly the hair on his back -bristled and stood up in a long stiff ridge, and he stopped -swimming--whereupon my friend found himself instantaneously, -automatically, and enthusiastically assisting the guide. - -Even where the blackbear is common, one may spend a long lifetime -without sight or sound of him. There may be half a dozen bear feeding -in a berry-patch. You may find signs that they are close at hand and -all about. Yet no matter how you may hide and skulk and hunt, never a -glimpse of one of them will you get. In bear country you will more -often smell the hot, strong, unmistakable scent of a bear who is -watching you close at hand, than see the bear himself. In fact the -sight of a wild blackbear is an adventure worth remembering. - -Personally, I am ashamed to say that, although I have tramped and -camped and fished and hunted on both sides of the continent, I have -never really seen a bear. Twice I have had glimpses of one. The first -time was in what was then the Territory of Washington. I was walking -with a friend through a bit of virgin forest. The narrow path was -walled in on both sides by impenetrable wind-breaks and underbrush. As -we suddenly and silently came around a sharp bend, there was a crash -through a mass of fallen trees, and I almost saw what caused it. At -least I saw the bushes move. Right ahead of us, in the mould of a torn -and rotted stump, was a foot-print like that of a broad, short, bare -human foot. It was none other than the paw-mark of Mr. Bear, who is a -plantigrade and walks flat-footed. Although I was sorry to miss seeing -him, yet I was glad that it was the bear and not the man who had to -dive through that underbrush. - -Another time I was camping in Maine. Not far from our tent, which we -had cunningly concealed on a little knoll near the edge of a lonely -lake, I found a tiny brook which trickled down a hillside. Although it -ran through dense underbrush, it was possible to fish it, and every -afternoon I would bring back half a dozen jeweled trout to broil for -supper. One day I had gone farther in than usual, and was standing -silently, up to my waist in water and brush, trying to cast over an -exasperating bush into a little pool beyond. Suddenly I smelt bear. -Not far from me there sounded a very faint crackling in the bushes on -a little ridge, about as loud as a squirrel would make. As I leaned -forward to look, my knee came squarely against a nest of enthusiastic -and able-bodied yellow-jackets. Instantly a cloud of them burst over -me like shrapnel, stinging my unprotected face unendurably. As I -struck at them with my hand, I caught just one glimpse of a patch of -black fur through the brush on the ridge above me. The next second my -hand struck my eye-glasses, and they went spinning into the brush, -lost forever, and I was stricken blind. Thereafter I dived and hopped -like a frog through the brush and water, until I came out beyond that -yellow-jacket barrage. I never saw that bear again. Probably he -laughed himself to death. - -The blackbear is undoubtedly leather-lined, for he will dig up and eat -the bulbs of the jack-in-the-pulpit, which affect a human tongue--I -speak from knowledge--like a mixture of nitric acid and powdered -glass. Moreover, he is the only animal which can swallow the -tight-rolled green cigars of the skunk-cabbage in the early spring. An -entry in my nature-notes reads as follows:-- - -"Only a fool or a bear would taste skunk-cabbage." - -My lips were blistered and my tongue swollen when I wrote it. The fact -that the blackbear and the blackcat or fisher are the only two mammals -which can eat Old Man Quill-Pig, alias porcupine, and swallow his -quills, confirms my belief as to the bear's lining. The dog, the lynx, -the wild cat, and the wolf have all tried--and died. - -Last spring, in northern Pennsylvania I found myself on the top of a -mountain, by the side of one of those trembling bogs locally known as -bear-sloughs. There I had highly resolved to find the nest of a nearby -Nashville warbler, which kept singing its song, which begins like a -black-and-white warbler and ends like a chipping sparrow. I did not -suppose that there was a bear within fifty miles of me. Suddenly I -came upon a large, quaking-aspen tree set back in the woods by the -side of the bog. Its smooth bark was furrowed by a score of deep -scratches and ridges about five feet from the ground, while above them -the tree had apparently been repeatedly chewed. I recognized it as a -bear-tree. In the spring and well through the summer certain trees are -selected by all the he-bears of a territory as a signpost whereon they -carve messages for friend and foe. No male bear of any real bearhood -would think of passing such a tree without cutting his initials wide, -deep, and high, for all the world to see. - -The first flurries of snow mean bed-time for Bruin. He is not afraid -of the cold, for he wears a coat of fur four inches thick over a -waistcoat of fat of the same thickness. He has found, however, that -rent is cheaper than board. Unless there comes some great acorn year, -when the oak trees are covered with nuts, he goes to bed when the snow -flies. One of the rarest adventures in wood-craft is the finding of a -bear-hole where Bruin sleeps rolled up in a big, black ball until -spring. It is always selected and concealed with the utmost care, for -the blackbear takes no chances of being attacked in his sleep. The -last bear-hole of which I have heard was not far from home. Two -friends of mine were shooting in the Pocono Mountains with a dog, -about the middle of November, 1914. Suddenly the dog started up a -blackbear on a wooded slope. After running a short distance, the bear -turned and popped into a hole under an overhanging bank. Almost -immediately he started to come out again, growling savagely. I am -sorry to say that my friends shot him. Then they explored the hole -which he was preparing for his winter-quarters. It was beautifully -constructed. The entrance was under an overhanging bank, shielded by -bushes, and it seemed unbelievable that so large an animal could have -forced his shoulders through so small a hole. The burrow was -jug-shaped, spreading out inside and sloping up, while a dry shelf had -been dug out in the bank. This was covered with layers of dry leaves -and a big blanket of withered grass. In the top of the bank a tiny -hole had been dug, which opened out in some thick bushes and was -probably an air-hole. Just outside the entrance, a bear had piled an -armful of dry sticks, evidently intending, when he had finally entered -the hole, to pull them over the entrance and entirely hide it. The -bear itself turned out to be a young one. A veteran would have died -fighting before giving up the secret of his winter castle. - - * * * * * - -The opal water was all glimmering green and gold and crimson, as it -whirled under overhanging boughs aflame with the fires of fall. The -air tasted of frost, and had the color of pale gold. Around sudden -curves, through twisted channels, and down gleaming vistas, our canoe -followed the crooked stream as it ran through the pine-barrens. The -woods on either side were glories of color. There was the scarlet of -the mountain sumac, with its winged leaves, and the deep purple of the -star-leaved sweet-gum. Sassafras trees were lemon-yellow or wine-red. -The persimmon was the color of gold, while the poison sumac, with its -death-pale bark, and venomous leaves up-curled as if ready to sting, -flaunted the regal red-and-yellow of Spain. - -At last, we beached our canoe in a little grove and landed for lunch. -By the edge of the smoky, golden cedar-water, in the pure white sand, -was a deep footprint, like that made by a baby's bare foot with a -pointed heel. I recognized the hand and seal of Lotor, the Washer, who -believes firmly in that old proverb about cleanliness. That is about -as near, however, as Lotor ever gets to godliness. He is the -grizzled-gray raccoon, who wears a black mask on his funny, foxy face, -and has a ringed tail shaped like a bāton, and sets his hind feet -flat, like his second-cousin the bear, while his menu-card covers -almost as wide a range. Whatever he eats--frogs, crawfish, chicken, -and even fresh eggs and snakes--he always washes. Two, three, and even -four times, he rinses and rubs his food if he can find water. - -That footprint in the sand carried me back more years than I like to -count. It was on the same kind of fall day that I first entered the -fastnesses of Rolfe's Woods. First there came Little Woods, close at -home, where one could play after school, and where the spotted leaves -of the adder's-tongue grew everywhere. Then came Big Woods, which -required a full Saturday afternoon to do it justice. It was there that -I accumulated by degrees the twenty-two spotted turtles, the five -young gray squirrels, and the three garter-snakes, which gladdened my -home. - -Far beyond Big Woods was a wilderness of swamps and thickets known to -us as Rolfe's Woods. This was only to be visited in company with some -of the big boys and on a full holiday. That day, Boots Lockwood and -Buck Thompson, patriarchs who must have been all of fourteen years -old, were planning to visit these woods. Four of us little chaps -tagged along until it was too late to send us back. We found that the -perils of the place had not been overstated. In a dark thicket Boots -showed us wolf-tracks. At least he said they were, and he ought -to have known, for he had read "Frank in the Woods," "The -Gorilla-Hunters," and other standard authorities on such subjects. -Farther on we heard a squalling note, which Buck at once recognized as -the scream of a panther. Boots confirmed his diagnosis, and showed the -reckless bravery of his nature by laughing so heartily at our scared -faces that he had to lean against a tree for some time before he could -go on. In later years I have heard the same note made by a blue jay, a -curious coincidence which should have the attention of some of our -prominent naturalists. - -[Illustration: LOTOR, THE COON] - -Finally, we came to a little clearing with a vast oak-tree in the -centre. As we neared it, suddenly Buck gave a yell and pointed -overhead. There on a hollow dead limb crouched a strange beast. It was -gray in color, with a black-masked face, and was ten times larger than -any gray squirrel, the wildest animal which we had met personally. -There was a hasty and whispered consultation between the two leaders, -after which Buck announced that the stranger was none other than a -Canada lynx, according to him an animal of almost supernatural -ferocity and cunning. Furthermore, he stated that he, assisted by -Boots, intended to climb the tree and attack said lynx with a club. -Our part was to encircle the tree and help Boots if the lynx elected -to fight on land instead of aloft. If so be that he sprang on any one -of us, the rest were to attack him instantly, before he had time to -lap the blood of his victim--a distressing habit which Buck advised us -was characteristic of all Canada lynxes. - -This masterly plan was somewhat marred by the actions of Robbie Crane. -Robbie was of a gentle nature, and one whose manners and ideals were -far superior to the rough boys with whom he occasionally consorted. -Mrs. Crane said so herself. After reflecting a moment on the lynx's -unrestrained and sanguinary traits, he suddenly disappeared down the -back-track with loud sobbings, and never stopped running until he -reached home an hour later. Thereafter our names were stricken from -Robbie's calling-list by Mrs. Crane. - -As Buck, boosted by Boots, started up the tree, the perfidious lynx -disappeared in an unsuspected hole beneath a branch, from which he -refused to come out in spite of all that Buck and Boots could do. One -member, at least, of that hunting-party was immensely relieved by his -unexpected retreat. It was many years later before I learned that even -such masters of woodcraft as Buck and Boots could be mistaken, and -that the Canada lynx was really a Connecticut coon. - -It was not until recently that I ever met Lotor by daylight. Three -years ago I was walking down a hillside after a sudden November -snowstorm. My way led past two gray-squirrel nests, well thatched and -chinked with the leaves by which they can always be told from crows' -nests. From one of them I saw peering down at me the funny face of a -coon. When I pounded on the other tree, another coon stared sleepily -down at me. Probably the unexpected snowstorm had sent them both to -bed in the first lodgings which they could find; or it may be that -they had decided to try the open-air sleeping-rooms of the squirrels -rather than the hollow-tree houses in which the coon family usually -spend their winters. - -Sometimes at night you may hear near the edge of the woods a -plaintive, tremulous call floating from out of the dark -trees--"Whoo-oo-oo-oo, whoo-oo-oo-oo." It is one of the night-notes of -the coon. It sounds almost like the wail of the little screech-owl, -save that there is a certain animal quality to the note. Moreover, the -screech-owl will always answer, when one imitates the call, and will -generally come floating over on noiseless wings to investigate. The -coon, however, instantly detects the imitation and calls no more that -night. - -Unlike the bears, Mr. and Mrs. Coon and all the little coons, -averaging from three to six, hibernate together soon after the first -snowstorm of the year. One of the few legends of the long-lost -Connecticut Indians which I can remember is that of an old Indian -hunter, who would appear on my great-grandfather's farm in the depths -of winter and, after obtaining permission, would go unerringly to one -or more coon-trees, which he would locate by signs unknown to any -white hunter. In each tree he would find from four to six fat coons, -whose fur and flesh he would exchange for gunpowder, tobacco, hard -cider, and other necessities of life. - -Mr. and Mrs. Coon are good parents. They keep their children with them -until the arrival of a new family, which occurs with commendable -regularity every spring. A friend of mine once saw a young coon fall -into the water from its tree in the depths of a swamp. At the splash, -the mother coon came out of the den, forty feet up the trunk, and -climbed down to help. Master Coon, wet, shaken, and miserable, managed -to get back to the tree-trunk and clung there whimpering. Mother Coon -gripped him by the scruff of his neck and marched him up the tree to -the den, giving him a gentle nip whenever he stopped to cry. - -In spite of his funny face and playful ways, Mr. Coon is a cheerful, -desperate, scientific fighter. In a fair fight, or an unfair one for -that matter, he will best a dog double his size, and he fears no -living animal of his own weight, save only that versatile weasel, the -blackcat. I became convinced of this one dark November morning many -years ago, when I foolishly used to kill animals instead of making -friends of them. All night long, with a pack of alleged coon dogs, we -had hunted invisible and elusive coons through thick woods. I had -scratched myself all over with greenbrier, and, while running through -the dark, had plunged head first into the coldest known brook on the -continent. Four separate times I had been persuaded by false and -flattering words to climb slippery trees after imaginary coons, with a -lantern fastened round my neck. - -This time my friends assured me there could be no mistake. Both Grip -and Gyp, the experts of the pack, had their fore-paws against an -enormous tulip tree which stood apart from all others. In order that -there might be no possible mistake, black Uncle Zeke, the leader of -the hunt, who knew most of the coons in those woods by their first -names, agreed to "shine" this particular coon. Lighting a lantern, he -held it behind his head, staring fixedly up into the tree as he did -so. Sure enough, in a minute, far up along the branches gleamed two -green spots. Those were the eyes of the coon, staring down at the -light. It was impossible to climb this tree, so we built a fire and -waited for daylight. - -Dawn found us regarding a monster coon crouched in the branches some -forty or fifty feet up. Uncle Zeke produced a cherished shot-gun. The -barrel had once burst, by reason of the muzzle being accidentally -plugged with mud, and had been thereafter cut down, so that it was -less than a foot in length. In spite of its misfortune, Uncle Zeke -assured us that it was still a wonderful shooter. We scattered and -gave him a free field. In a properly conducted coonhunt, a coon, like -a fox, must be killed by dogs or not at all. Uncle Zeke told us that -this one, as soon as he heard the shot, although uninjured, would come -down, like Davy Crockett's coon. - -Sure enough, when the shot cut through the branches well above the -animal, he started slowly down the trunk, head-foremost, like a -squirrel, and never stopped until he reached a branch some twenty feet -above the yelping pack. Then, with hardly a pause, he launched himself -right into their midst. As he came through the air, we could see him -slashing with his claws, evidently limbering up. He struck the ground, -only to disappear in a wave of dogs. In a minute he fought himself -clear, and managed to get his back against the tree. Then followed a -great exhibition of scientific fighting. The coon was perfectly -balanced on all four feet, and did wonderful execution with his -flexible fore-paws, armed with sharp, curved claws. He went through -that mongrel pack like a light-weight champion in a street fight. -Ducking, side-stepping, slashing and biting fiercely in the clinches, -he broke entirely through the circle, and started off at a brisk trot -toward the thick woods. The pack followed after him, baying -ferociously, but doing nothing more. Not one of them would venture -again into close quarters. Though we came back empty-handed, not even -Uncle Zeke grudged that coon his life. - - * * * * * - -The motto of the next sleeper is, "Don't hurry, others will." If you -meet in your wanderings a black-and-white animal wearing a pointed -nose, a bushy tail, and an air of justified confidence, avoid any -altercation with him. The skunk discovered the secret of the -gas-attack a million years before the Boche. He is one of the best -friends of the farmer--and the worst treated. Given a fair chance, -every week he will eat several times his weight in mice and insects. -Moreover, with the muskrat he contributes divers furs to the market, -whose high-sounding names disguise their lowly origin. During the -coldest part of the winter he retires to his burrow and sleeps -fitfully. He is the last to go to bed and the first to get up; and on -any warm day in late winter you may see his close-set, alternate, -stitch-like tracks in the snow. The black-and-white banner of -skunk-kind is a huge bushy resplendent tail, sometimes as wide as it -is long. At the very tip is set a tuft like the white plume of Henry -of Navarre. When it stands straight up, the battle is on, and wise -wild-folk remove themselves elsewhere with exceeding swiftness. As for -the simple--they wish they had. - -The armament of this Seventh Sleeper is simple but effective. It -consists of two scent glands located near the base of the tail, which -empty into a movable duct or pipe which can be protruded some -distance. Through this duct, by means of large contractile muscles, a -stream of liquid musk can be propelled with incredible accuracy, and -with a range of from six to ten feet. Moreover the skunk's accurate -breech-loading and repeating weapon has one device not yet found in -any man-made artillery. Each gland, besides the hole for long-range -purposes, is pierced with a circle of smaller holes through which the -deadly gas can be sprayed in a cloud for work at close quarters. The -skunk's battery can be operated over the bow or from port or -starboard, but rarely astern. - -The liquid musk itself is a clear, golden-yellow fluid full of little -bubbles of the devastating gas, and curiously enough is almost -identical in appearance with the venom of the rattlesnake. As to its -odor, it has been described feelingly as a mixture of perfume-musk, -essence of garlic, burning sulphur, and sewer-gas, raised to the -thousandth power. Its effect is very much like that produced by the -fumes of ammonia, another animal product, or the mustard-gas of modern -warfare. It may cause blindness, convulsions, and such constriction -and congestion of the breathing passages as even to bring about death. -Some individuals and animals, however, seem to be more or less immune -to the effects of this secretion. I remember once attending by -invitation a possum hunt conducted by a number of noted possumists of -color. We were accompanied by a bevy of miscellaneous dogs. The -possums were generally found wandering here and there among the -thickets, or located in low persimmon trees. Every now and then one of -the dogs would bring to bay a strolling skunk. As the skins had a -considerable market value, these skunks were regarded as the special -prizes of the chase. The hunters dispatched them by a quick blow -across the back which broke the spine. Such a blow paralyzed the -muscles and effectually prevented any further artillery practice on -the part of the skunk which received it. Before it could be delivered, -both the hunter and the dog were usually exposed to an unerring -barrage, which however seemed to cause them no especial inconvenience. -Before long every hunter, except myself, had one or more skunks tucked -away in his pockets. - -It was a long, strong night. Before it was over I was in some doubt as -to whether I had been attending a possum hunt or had taken part in a -skunk chase. My family had no doubt whatever on the subject when I -reached home the next morning. I was earnestly invited to tarry in the -wilderness until such time as I could obtain a complete change of -raiment. Thereafter I tried to give my hunting clothes away to the -worthy poor. Said poor, however, would have none of them, and they -repose in a lonely grave in a Philadelphia back-yard even unto this -day. - - * * * * * - -I saw him last fall sitting up like a little post in the Half-Moon Lot -where the blind blue gentian grows. Every once in a while he would -drop down and begin to nibble again, only to stop and sit up stiff and -straight on sentry duty. For the gray, grizzled woodchuck is as wary -as he is fat. Watchfulness is the price of his life. - -Once I spied him far out in a clover-patch, nibbling away at the pink -sweet blossoms as I passed along the road. At the bar-way a chipmunk -leaped into the wall with a sharp squeak. Without even stopping to -raise his head, Mr. Woodchuck scuttled through the clover, and dived -into his burrow. It was a bit of animal team-work such as takes place -when a fox or a deer uses a far-away crow or a jay as a picket, and -dashes away at its warning of the coming of an enemy. - -Soon afterwards I was on my way to a spring down in the pasture. As I -passed near a stone wall half hidden in a tangle of chokecherries and -bittersweet, there was a piercing whistle, followed by a scrambling -and a scuffling as the woodchuck dived down among the stones, and I -understood why, below Mason and Dixon's Line, he is always called the -"whistlepig." It is a good name, for he whistles, and he is certainly -like a little pig in that he eats and eats and eats until he seems -mostly quivering paunch. According to the farmers of Connecticut, he -eats to get strength enough to dig, and then digs to get an appetite -to eat, and so passes his life in a vicious circle of eating and -digging and digging and eating. In spite of his unwieldy weight, the -woodchuck is a bitter, brave fighter when fight he must. - -I once watched a bull-terrier named Paddy tackle a big chuck near a -shallow brook. Round and round the dog circled, trying for the fatal -throat-hold. Round and round whirled the brave old chuck, chattering -with his great chisel-like teeth, which could bite through dog-hide -and dog-flesh and bone just as easily as they gnawed through stolen -apples. Every once in a while Paddy would clinch, but the woodchuck -saved himself every time by hunching his neck down between his round -shoulders and punishing the dog so terribly with his sharp teeth that -the latter would at last retreat, yelping with pain. They would whirl -in circles, and roll over and over in the clinches; but always the old -chuck would be found with his squat figure on its legs at the end of -each round. His thick grizzled coat was more of a protection, too, -than the thin skin of the short-haired terrier. - -At last both of them were tired out. As if by agreement, both drew -back and lay down, panting and watching each other's every movement -like two boxers. Finally, the woodchuck, who was nearer the brook, -began to drag himself along until he reached the edge of the water. -Then he lowered his head, still watching his opponent, and sucked in -deep, cool, satisfying drinks. - -It was too much for Paddy. He started for the brook also. The old -chuck stopped drinking, and pulled himself together; but Paddy wanted -water, not blood. In a moment he had his nose in the brook. There the -two lay, not a couple of yards apart, and drank until they could drink -no more. - -The whistlepig was the first out. Slowly and watchfully he waddled -away from the brook and toward the stone wall, that refuge of all -hunted little animals. Paddy gave a fierce growl, but the water tasted -too good, and he stayed for another long drink. Then he darted out -after the woodchuck, barking ferociously all the time, as if he could -hardly wait to begin the battle again. The woodchuck watched him -steadily, ready to stop and fight at any moment. - -Somehow, although Paddy barked and growled and rushed at his -retreating opponent with exceeding fierceness, there were always a few -yards between them, until Mr. Chuck disappeared at last down between -two great stones in the wall. Then indeed Paddy dashed in, and -growled, and tore up the turf, and stuck his nose deep down between -the stones, and told the world all the terrible things he would do to -that woodchuck if he could only catch him. From the bowels of the old -wall, between barks, sounded now and then the muffled but defiant -whistle of the unconquered whistlepig. - -Finally, Paddy, with an air of having done all that could be expected, -gave some fierce farewell barks and trotted off toward the farmhouse. - -Some people claim to have dug woodchucks out of their holes. -Personally I believe that it is about as easy to dig a woodchuck out -of its hole as it is to catch a squirrel in its tree. They have a -network of holes, and have a habit of starting digging on their own -account when molested, and sealing up the new hole after them, so that -they leave no trace. - -Once, in company with another amateur naturalist, we tried to dig an -old chuck out of its burrow. After first stopping up all the spare -holes we could find, the naturalist dug and dug and dug and dug. Then -we enlisted two other men, and they dug and dug and dug. After a while -we came to a mass of great boulders. Then we pressed into service a -yoke of oxen, and they tugged and tugged and tugged. Said digging and -tugging and tugging and digging lasted the half of a long summer day. -All together, it was an exceeding great digging--but we never got -that woodchuck. - -[Illustration: THE WHISTLEPIG] - -In September and October the woodchuck devotes all of his time to -eating. The consequence is that, by the time the first frost comes, he -is a big gray bag of fat. Mr. Woodchuck does not believe in storing up -food in his burrow, like the chipmunk. He prefers to be the -storehouse. Soon after the first frost he disappears in his hole, and -far down underground, at the end of a network of intersecting -passages, rolls himself up in a round, warm ball, and sleeps until -spring. - -According to the legend, on Candlemas, or Ground-Hog Day,--which comes -on February second,--he peeps out, and, if he can see his shadow, goes -in again for six more weeks of cold weather. So far this day has not -yet been made a legal holiday. It probably will be some time, along -with Columbus Day, Labor Day, and other equally important days. I will -not vouch for the fact that the weather depends on the shadow; but -there is no doubt that the woodchuck does come out of his burrow in a -February thaw and looks around, as his tracks prove; but he is not -interested in his shadow. No indeed! What he comes out for is to look -for the future Mrs. Woodchuck, and when he finds her he goes in again. - -Sometimes you read in nature-books that the woodchuck is good to eat. -Don't believe it. I ought to know. I ate one once. Anyone is welcome -to my share of the world's supply of woodchucks. When I camped out as -a boy, we had to eat everything that we shot: and one summer I ate a -part of a woodchuck, a crow, a green heron, and a blue jay. The chuck -was about in the crow's class. - - * * * * * - -We humans have different feelings toward the different Sleepers. One -may respect the bear, and have a certain tempered regard for the coon, -or even the skunk. Everyone, however, loves that confiding, gentle -little Sleeper, the striped chipmunk--"Chippy Nipmunk," as certain -children of my acquaintance have named him. He is that little squirrel -who lives in the ground and has two big pockets in his cheeks. -Sometimes in the fall you may think that he has the mumps. Really it -is only acorns. He can carry four of them in each cheek. Once I met a -greedy chipmunk who had his pockets so full of nuts that he could not -enter his own burrow. Although he tried with his head sideways, and -even upside-down, he could not get in. When he saw me coming, he -rapidly removed two hickory nuts from which he had nibbled the sharp -points at each end, and popped into his hole, leaving the nuts high, -but not dry, outside. When I carried them off, he stuck his head out -of the hole, and shouted, "Thief! Thief!" after me in chipmunk -language, so loudly that, in order not to be arrested, I carried them -back again. - -Almost the first wild animal of my acquaintance was the chipmunk. -During one of my very early summers, probably the fourth or fifth, a -wave of chipmunks swept over the old farm where I happened to be. They -swarmed everywhere, and every stone wall seemed to be alive with -them. It was probably one of the rare chipmunk migrations, which, -although denied by some naturalists, actually do occur. - -Chippy usually goes to bed in late October, and sleeps until late -March. He takes with him a light lunch of nuts and seeds, in case he -may wake up and be hungry during the long night. Moreover, these come -in very handy along about breakfast-time, for when he gets up there is -little to eat. Then, too, he is very busy during those early spring -weeks. In the first place, he has to sing his spring song for hours. -It is a loud, rolling "Chuck-a-chuck-a-chuck," almost like a -bird-song, and Chippy is very proud of it. Then, too, he has to find a -suitable Miss Chipmunk and persuade her to become Mrs. Chipmunk, all -of which takes a great deal of time. So the nuts which he stores up -are probably intended rather for an early breakfast than a late -supper. - -An Indian writer tells how the boys of his tribe used to take -advantage of the chipmunk's spring serenade. The first warm day in -March they would all start out armed with bows and arrows, and at the -nearest chipmunk-hole one would imitate the loud chirrup of the -chipmunk. Instantly every chipmunk within hearing would pop out of his -hole and join the chorus, until sometimes as many as fifty would be -singing at the same time, too busily to dodge the blunt arrows of the -boy-hunters. - -Besides his song the chipmunk has another high-pitched note, and an -alarm-squeal which he gives as he dives into his burrow. There are two -phases of Eastern chipmunks, the Northern and the Southern, besides -the Oregon, the painted, and the magnificent golden chipmunk of the -West. All of them have the same dear, gentle ways. - -When I was a boy, a chipmunk was a favorite pet. Flying squirrels were -too sleepy, red squirrels too restless, and gray squirrels too bitey -for petting purposes. Chippy is easily tamed, and moreover does not -have to be kept in a cage, which is no place for any wild animal. I -knew one once who used to go to school in a boy's pocket every day; -and he behaved quite as well as the boy, which is not saying much. -Sometimes he would come out and sit on the desk beside the boy's book, -so as to help him over the particularly hard places. - -The chipmunk, like most of the Sleepers, has a varied diet. He eats -all kinds of nuts and weed-seeds, and also has a pretty taste in -mushrooms. It was a chipmunk who once taught me the difference between -a good and a bad mushroom. I saw him sitting on a stump, nibbling what -seemed to be a red russula, which tastes like red pepper and acts like -an emetic if one is foolish enough to swallow much of it. When I came -near, he ran away, leaving his lunch behind. On tasting the mushroom I -found that, although it was a red russula, it was not the _emetica_, -and I learned to recognize the delicious _alutacea_. - -Sometimes, sad to say, Chippy eats forbidden food. A friend of mine -found him once on a low limb, nibbling a tiny, green grass-snake. The -chipmunk had eaten about half of the snake, when he suddenly stopped -and let the remainder drop, and then sat and reflected for a full -minute. At the end of that time he became actively ill, and after -losing all of that fresh snake-lunch, scampered away, an emptier, if -not a wiser, chipmunk. - -In spite of his gentle ways Chippy lives in a world of enemies. Hawks, -snakes, cats, boys, and dogs, all are his foes. More than all the rest -put together, however, he fears the devilish red weasel, which runs -him down relentlessly above and below the ground alike. Only in the -water has the chipmunk a chance to escape. Although the weasel can -hold him for a few yards, yet in a long swim the chipmunk will draw -away so far from his pursuer that he will generally escape. -Underground, if given a few seconds' time, he also escapes by a method -known to a number of the underground folk. Dashing through a series of -the main burrows, he runs into a side gallery, and instantly walls -himself in so neatly that his pursuer rushes past without suspecting -his presence. - -For many years one of the out-of-door problems to which I was unable -to find the answer was how a chipmunk could dig a burrow and leave no -trace of any fresh earth. I examined scores of new chipmunk-holes, but -never found the least trace of fresh earth near the entrance. His -secret is to start at the other end. This sounds like a joke, but it -is exactly what he does. He will run a shaft for many feet, coming up -in some convenient thicket or beneath the slope of an overhanging -bank. All the earth will be taken out through the first hole, which is -then plugged up. This accounts for the heaps of fresh earth which I -have frequently seen near chipmunk colonies, but with no burrow -anywhere in sight. - -The Band was on the march. The evening before, at story-time, Sergeant -Henny-Penny and Corporal Alice-Palace had listened spellbound while -the Captain told them of the adventures of trustful Chippy-Nipmunk -when he tried to get change for a horse-chestnut from Mr. G. Squirrel, -who it seems was of a grasping and over-reaching disposition, and how -Chippy wrote home about the transaction signing himself "Butternutly -yours." The story had made such a sensation that the flattered Captain -had promised, on the next day, which was a half-holiday, to take the -whole Band up to Chipmunk Hill, where old Mr. Prindle had named and -tamed a chipmunk colony. - -Late afternoon found them plodding up the grass-grown road which led -to the lonely little house on top of the hill, where Mr. Prindle had -lived since days before which the memory of the Band ran not. They -found the old man seated on the porch in a great Boston rocker, and -glad enough to see them all. The Captain introduced them in due form, -from First Lieutenant Trottie down to Corporal Alice-Palace. - -"'T ain't everybody," said Mr. Prindle, pulling Second Lieutenant -Honey's ear reflectively, "that would climb five miles up-hill to see -an old man. How would a few fried cakes and some cider go?" - -There was an instantaneous vote in favor of this resolution, in which -Alice-Palace's good-time noise easily soared like a siren-whistle -above all the other expressions of assent. - -"Be careful and don't swallow the holes," Mr. Prindle warned them a -few moments later, as he brought out a big panful of brownish-red, -spicy fried cakes cooked in twisted rings. - -The Band promised to use every precaution, and there was an -adjournment of all other business until the pan and the pitcher were -alike empty. - -"Are your chipmunks still alive?" queried the Captain, as they all sat -down on the vast, squatty-legged settee next to Mr. Prindle's rocker. - -"Yes, indeed," replied the latter, "they've been with me nigh on to -four years now." - -Alice-Palace's eyes became very big. - -"Not Chippy-Nipmunk?" she whispered to the Captain. - -"Exactly," replied that official, "and then some." - -Thereafter, at Mr. Prindle's suggestion, they all sat stony-still and -mousy-quiet while he made a funny little hissing, whistling noise. -From under the porch there came a scurrying rush, and the two bright -eyes of a big striped chipmunk popped up over the edge of the -porch-step. A minute later, from two holes in a near-by bank, two -other chipmunks dashed out. They all had ashy-gray backs, with five -stripes of such dark brown as to look almost like black. Their tails -had a black, white-tipped fringe, while the gray color of the back -changed into clear orange-brown on their flanks and legs. - -"This one is James," announced Mr. Prindle, as the first chipmunk -hurried across the porch toward his chair. "His full name is James -William Francis," he explained, "after a second-cousin of mine who -looked a good deal like him. I generally call him James for short. The -other two are Nip and Tuck," he went on. "Old Bill will be along in a -minute. You see," he continued, "he's an old bachelor and lives all by -himself quite a ways off." - -"What about James?" inquired Honey. - -"He's been a widower," said Mr. Prindle, sadly, "ever since his wife -stayed out one day to get a good look at a hawk." - -As he spoke, another chipmunk came around the end of the porch and -hastened to join the other three. - -"Here's Bill now," announced Mr. Prindle. - -Then the old man reached into his pocket and took out a handful of -butternuts and gave two to each of the Band. - -"Hold one in your closed hand and the other between your thumb and -finger where they can see it," he advised them. - -A moment later there was a chorus of delighted squeals. Each chipmunk -had run up and taken the nut which was in sight, and was burrowing and -scrabbling with soft little paws and sniffling little noses into four -sets of clenched fingers, in an attempt to secure the other hidden -nuts. When the last of them had disappeared, looking as if he had an -attack of mumps, the Band thanked Mr. Prindle and started for home. - -"Butternutly yours," quoted Alice-Palace as they hurried down the long -hill. - - * * * * * - -Have you ever dreamed of writing a wonderful poem, and then waked up -and found that you had forgotten it; or, worse still, that it wasn't -wonderful at all? That is what happened to me the other night. All -that was left of the lost masterpiece was the following alleged -verse:-- - - After dark everybody's house - Belongs to the little brown Flittermouse. - -I admit that the mystery and pathos and beauty which that verse seemed -to have in dreamland have some way evaporated in daylight. So as I -can't give to the world any poetry in praise of my friend the -Flittermouse, I must do what I can for him in prose. In the first -place, his everyday name is Bat. Our forebears knew him as the flying -or "flitter" mouse. Probably, too, he is the original of the Brownie, -that ugly brown elf that used to flit about in the twilight. - -He is perhaps the best equipped of all of our mammals, for he flies -better than any bird, is a strong though unwilling swimmer, and is -also fairly active on the ground. In addition, he has such an -exquisite sense of feeling, that he is able to fly at full speed in -the dark, steering his course and instantly avoiding any obstacle by -the mere feel of the air-currents. In fact, the bat's whole body, -including the ribs and edges of its wings, may be said to be full of -eyes. These are highly developed nerve-endings, which are so -sensitive that they are instantly aware of the presence of any body -met in flight, by the difference in the air-pressure. - -As early as 1793 an Italian naturalist found that a blinded bat could -fly as well as one with sight. They were able to avoid all parts of a -room, and even to fly through silken threads stretched in such a -manner as to leave just space enough for them to pass with their wings -expanded. When the threads were placed closer together, the blind bats -would contract their wings in order to pass between them without -touching. - -An English naturalist put wax over a bat's closed eyes and then let it -loose in a room. It flew under chairs, of which there were twelve in -the room, without touching anything, even with the tips of its wings. -When he attempted to catch it, the bat dodged; nor could it be taken -even when resting, as it seemed to feel with its wings the approach of -the hand stretched out to seize it. - -When it comes to flying, the bat is the swallow of the night. -Sometimes it may be confused with a chimney-swift at twilight, but it -can always be told by its dodging, lonely flight, while the swifts fly -in companies and without zigzagging through the air. It is doubtful -whether even the swallow or the swiftest of the hawks, such as the -sharp-shinned or the duck hawk, perhaps the fastest bird that flies, -can equal the speed of the great hoary bat. Moreover, the flight of -the bat is absolutely silent. He may dart and turn a foot away from -you, but you will hear absolutely nothing. A hoary bat, the largest -of all the family, has been seen to overtake and fly past a flock of -migrating swallows, while a red bat has been watched carrying four -young clinging to her, which together weighed more than she did, and -yet she flew and hunted and captured insects in mid-air as usual. -There is no bird which can give such an exhibition of strong flying. -The hoary bat has even been found on the Bermuda Islands in autumn and -early winter. As these islands are five hundred and forty storm-swept -miles from the nearest land, this is evidence of an extraordinarily -high grade of wing-power. - -When it comes to personal habits, bats of all kinds are perhaps the -most useful mammals that we have. No American bat eats anything but -insects, and insects of the most disagreeable kind, such as -cockroaches, mosquitoes, and June-bugs. A house-bat has been seen to -eat twenty-one June-bugs in a single night; while another young bat -would eat from thirty-four to thirty-seven cockroaches in the same -time, beginning this commendable work before it was two months old. -Moreover, bats do not bring into houses any noxious insects, like -bedbugs or lice, despite their bad reputation. They are unfortunately -afflicted with numerous parasites, but none of them are of a kind to -attack man. All bats are great drinkers, and twice a day skim over the -nearest water, drinking copiously on the wing. Sometimes, where trout -are large enough, bats fall victims to their drinking habits, being -seized on the wing like huge moths by leaping trout, as they approach -the water to drink. - -Bats also feed twice a day at regular periods, once at sundown and -once at sunrise, always capturing and eating their insect food on the -wing. Some of them have a curious habit of using a pouch, which is -made of the membrane stretched between their hind legs, as a kind of -net to hold the captured insect until it can be firmly gripped and -eaten. In this same pouch the young are carried as soon as they are -born, and until they are strong enough to nurse. After that, like -young jumping mice, they cling to the teats of the mother bat, and are -carried everywhere in this way. When they get too large to be so -conveyed in comfort, the mother bat hangs them up in some secret place -until her return. - -Moreover a mother bat is just as devoted to her babies as any other -mammal. She takes entire charge of them, with never any help from the -father bat. Young bats are blind at birth, but their eyes open on the -fifth day, and on the thirteenth day the baby bat no longer clings to -its mother, but roosts beside her. The bat has from two to four young, -depending on the species. Most young bats can fly and forage for -themselves when they are about three months old, although the silvery -bat begins to fly when it is three weeks old. No bat makes a nest. - -Titian Peale, of Philadelphia, in an early natural history, tells a -story of a boy who, in 1823, caught a young red bat and took it home. -Three hours later, in the evening, he started to take it to the -museum, carrying it in his hand. As he passed near the place where it -was caught, the mother bat appeared and followed the boy for two -squares, flying around him and finally lighting on his breast, until -the boy allowed her to take charge of her little one. - -The bat has but few enemies. They are occasionally caught by owls, -probably taken unawares or when hanging in some dark tree. In fact, -virtually the only enemies a bat has are fur-lice, which breed upon -them in enormous quantities. It is this misfortune, and the fact that -a bat has a strong rank smell like that of a skunk, which keep it from -being popular as a pet. - -A friend of mine once, however, kept a little brown bat, which had -been drowned out from a tree by a thunder-storm, for a long time under -a sieve as a pet. The bat became tame and would accept food, and it -was most interesting to see the deft, speedy way in which he husked -millers and other minute insects, rejecting their wings, skinning -their bodies, and devouring the flesh only after it had been prepared -entirely to its liking. He would wash himself with his tongue and his -paw, like a cat, using the little thumb-nail at the bend of his wing, -and stretching the rubbery membrane into all kinds of shapes, until it -seemed as if he would tear it in his zeal for cleanliness. - -A bat always alights first by catching the little hooks on its wings. -As soon as it has a firm grip with these, it at once turns over, head -downward, and hangs by the long, recurved nails of the hind feet, and -in this position sleeps through the daylight. It sleeps through the -winter in the top of some warm steeple or, far more often than we -suspect, in dark corners of our houses, and sometimes in hollow trees -and deserted buildings and caves. Only when caught by the cold does -the bat hibernate. Often it migrates like the birds. - -One of the strangest things about the flittermouse is its voice. It is -a penetrating, shrill squeak, so high that many people cannot hear it -at all. The chirp of a sparrow is about five octaves above the middle -E of the piano, while the cry of the bat is a full octave above that. -In England there is a saying that no person more than forty years old -can hear the cry of a bat. This is founded probably on the fact that -the ears of many of us, especially as we approach middle age, are -unable to distinguish sounds more than four octaves above middle E. -Some naturalists believe that the shrill squeak which most of us do -hear is only one of many notes of the bat, and that the various -species have different calls, like those of birds, and probably even -have a love-song during the mating season, in late August or early -September, which can never be heard by human ears. - -Most bats found in the Eastern States are either large brown -house-bats, one of two kinds of little brown bats, black bats, red or -tree bats, pigmy bats, or, last, largest and most beautiful of all, -hoary bats. The big brown bat, or house-bat, is the commonest. This is -the last of the bats to come out in the evening, for each has a -certain fixed hour when it begins to hunt, which varies only with the -light. When the big brown bat starts, the twilight has almost turned -to dark. - -The two kinds of little brown bat, Leconte's and Say's, cannot be told -apart in flight. Both of them are much smaller than the big brown bat, -and the ear of a Leconte's bat barely reaches the end of the nose, -while that of a Say's bat is considerably longer. All bats have large -ears, each of which contains a curious inner ear known as the -"antitragus." Both of these little bats are country bats and prefer -caves and hollow trees to houses and outbuildings. - -The black bat can be told from all other American bats by its deep -black-brown color touched with silvery white. This bat likes to hunt -and hawk over water, skimming across ponds like swallows. Some of the -black-bat colonies, or "batteries," are very large, one by actual -count including 9,640 bats. - -Next comes the Georgia pigmy bat, so called to distinguish it from the -very rare New York pigmy bat. This little bat can be told by its small -size, for it is the smallest of all of our eastern bats, by its -yellowish pale color, and especially by its flight, which is weak and -fluttering, like that of a large butterfly. - -The red bat is a tree bat, spending the daytime in the foliage of -trees, and rarely, if ever, being found in caves or houses. It can be -told at a glance by its red color. It is the greatest of all the bats -except the last, the hoary bat, the largest of them all, with a -wing-spread of from fifteen to seventeen inches. This great bat soars -high, well above the tree-tops, where it can prey upon the high-flying -great moths. It is one of the most beautiful, as well as the rarest, -of our bats, being found in the East only in the spring or fall -migration. It wears a magnificent furry coat as beautiful as that of -the silver fox, but, like all of its race, it is cursed with the -homeliest face ever worn by an animal. It is this hobgoblin face -which, in spite of a blameless life and useful habits, makes the -flittermouse, whatever its species, universally hated. - -However, handsome is as handsome does, and the boy who kills a bat has -killed one of our most useful animals and deserves to be bitten by all -the mosquitoes, and bumped by all the June bugs, and crawled over by -all the cockroaches, and to have his clothes corrupted by all the -moths, that the dead bat would have eaten if it had been allowed to -live. - -After I had supposedly finished this chapter I was reading it aloud at -the dinner-table to the defenceless Band, one Sunday afternoon about -two o'clock, on a freezing day in December. Just as I was in the midst -of the masterpiece, one of my audience suddenly woke up and said, -"There's a bat!" Sure enough, outside, in the glass-enclosed porch, -was flying a large brown house-bat. Back and forth it went through the -freezing air, as swiftly as if it were summer. I was much touched by -this beautiful tribute to my authorship, and went out and managed to -catch my visitor when he alighted. The bat however was ungrateful -enough to bite the hand that had praised him, and I will end this -account by writing of knowledge that a bat's tiny teeth are as sharp -as needles and that he is always willing to use them. - - * * * * * - -Not dangerous like the skunk, or brave like the raccoon, or big like -the bear, the least of the Sleepers is the best-looking of them all. -Shy and solitary, the gentle little jumping mouse is as dainty as he -looks. His fur is lead, overlaid with gold deepening to a dark brown -on the back, and like the deer-mouse he wears a snowy silk waistcoat -and stockings. His strength is in his powerful crooked hind-legs, and -his length in his silky tail, which occupies five of his eight inches. -Given one jump ahead of any foe that runs, springs, flies, or crawls, -and Mr. Jumping Mouse is safe. He patters through the grass by the -edge of thickets and weed-patches, like any other mouse, until -alarmed. Then with a bound he shoots high into the air, in a leap that -will cover from two to twelve feet. It is in this that his long tail -plays its part. In a graceful curve, with tip upturned, it balances -and guides him through the air in a jump which will cover over forty -times his own length, equivalent to a performance of two hundred and -forty feet by a human jumper. The instant he strikes, the jumper soars -away again like a bird, at right angles to his first jump, and zigzags -here and there through the air, so fast and so far as to baffle even -the swift hawk and the dogged weasel. - -Every day Mr. Jumping Mouse washes and polishes his immaculate self, -and draws his long silky tail through his mouth until every hair -shines. Mrs. Jumping Mouse is a good mother, and never deserts her -babies. If alarmed while feeding them, she will spring through the air -with from three to five of them clinging to her for dear life, and -carry them safely through all her series of lofty leaps. - -The first frost rings the bed-time bell for the jumping mouse. Three -feet underground he builds a round nest of dried grass, and lines it -with feathers, hair, and down. Then he rolls himself into a round -bundle, which he ties up with two wraps of his long tail, and goes to -sleep until spring. Of all the Sleepers he is the soundest. Dig him up -and he shows no sign of life; but if brought in to a fire, he wakes up -and becomes his own lively self once more. Put him out in the cold, -and he rolls up and falls asleep again. - -One of the Band who holds high office is by way of being a naturalist -instead of an explorer or an aviator, as he originally intended. Last -summer, in a bit of dried-up marshland near the roadside, he heard -strange rustlings. On investigating, he found a family of young -jumping mice moving through the grass and feeding on the buds of -alder-bushes. They were quite tame, and as they ran out on the ends of -the branches, he had a good view of them and finally managed to catch -one by the end of his long tail. The mouse bit the boy, but did not -even draw blood. Afterwards he seemed to become tamer, although -shaking continually. Given a bit of bread, he sat up and nibbled it -like a little squirrel; but even as he ate he suddenly had a spasm of -fright and died. This death from fright occurs among a number of the -more highly strung of the mice-folk, even when they seem to have -become perfectly tame. This same young naturalist observed another -jumping mouse which, contrary to all the books, took to the water when -pursued, and swam nearly as expertly as a muskrat. - -So endeth the Chronicle of the Seven Sleepers. - - - - -XII - -DRAGON'S BLOOD - -Then Sigurd went his way and roasted the heart of Fafnir on a rod. And -when he tasted the blood, straightway he wot the speech of every bird -of the air. - - -It takes longer nowadays. Yet the years are well spent. There is a -strange indescribable happiness that comes with the knowledge of the -bird-notes. As for the songs--they are not only among the joys of -life, but they bring with them many other happinesses. Even as I -write, the memory of many of them comes back to me: wind-swept -hilltops; white sand-dunes against a blue, blue sea; singing rows of -pine trees marching miles and miles through the barrens; jade-green -pools; crooked streams of smoky-brown water; lonely islands; -orchid-haunted marsh-lands; far journeyings and good fellowship with -others who have learned the Way--these are but a few of them. Let me -entreat you to leave the narrow in-door days and wander far afield -before it be too late. - - Come sit beside the weary way - And hear the angels sing. - -Ride with Aucassin into the greenwood. There perchance, as happed to -him, you will see the green grass grow and listen to the sweet birds -sing and hear some good word. - -To him who will but listen there are adventures in bird-songs -anywhere, any time, and any season. It was but last winter that I -found myself again in the dawn-dusk facing a defiant hickory, armed -only with an axe. Let me recommend to every man who is worried about -his body, his soul, or his estate during the winter months, that he -buy or borrow a well-balanced axe and cut down and cut up a few trees -for fire-wood. As he forces the tingling iced oxygen into every cell -of his lungs, he will find that he is taking a new view of life and -love and debt and death, and other perplexing and perennial topics. - -Quite recently I read a journal that a young minister kept, back in -the fifties. One entry especially appealed to me. - -"Decided this morning that I was not the right man for this church. -Chopped wood for two hours in Colonel Hewitt's wood-lot. Decided that -this was the church for me and that I was the man for this church." - -On this particular morning, I heard once more the wild dawn-song of -the Carolina wren, full of liquid bell-like overtones. As I listened, -my mind went back to another wren-song. I had been hunting for the -nest of a yellow palm warbler in a little gully in the depths of a -northern forest. The blood ran down my face from the fierce bites of -the black-flies, and the mosquitoes stung like fire. Suddenly, from -the side of the tiny ravine, began a song full of ringing, glassy -notes such as one makes by running a wet finger rapidly on the inside -of a thin glass finger-bowl. Listening, I forgot that I was wet and -tired and hungry and bitten and stung. For the first time I listened -to the song of the winter wren. For years I had met this little bird -along the sides of brooks in the winter and running in and out of -holes and under stones like a mouse; but to-day to me it was no longer -a tiny bird. It was the voice of the untamed, unknown northern woods. -It is hard to make any notation of the song. It flowed like some -ethereal stream filled with little bubbles of music which broke in -glassy tinkling sprays of sound over the under-current of the high -vibrating melody itself. The song seemed to have two parts. The first -ended in a contralto phrase, while the second soared like a fountain -into a spray of tinkling trills. Through it all ran a strange -unearthly dancing lilt, such as the fairy songs must have had, heard -by wandering shepherds at the edge of the green fairy hills. At its -very height the melody suddenly ceased, and once again I dropped back -into a workaday, mosquito-ridden world, with ten miles between me and -my camp. - -On that day I found two of the almost unknown, feather-lined nests of -the yellow palm warbler, and climbed up to the jewel-casket of a -bay-breasted warbler, and was shown the cherished secret of a -Nashville warbler's nest deep hidden in the sphagnum moss of a little -tussock in the middle of a pathless morass. Yet my great adventure was -the song of the winter wren. - -It was under quite different circumstances that I last heard the best -winter singer of all. Never was there a more discouraging day for a -collector of bird-songs. The year was dying of rheumy age. On the -trees still hung a few dank, blotched leaves, while the sodden ground -plashed under foot and a leaden mist of rain covered everything. Yet -at the edge of the very first field that I started to cross, a strange -call cut through the fog, and I glimpsed a large black-and-white bird -crossing the meadow with the dipping up-and-down flight of a -woodpecker. It was the hairy woodpecker, the big brother of the more -common downy, and a bird that usually loves the depths of the woods. -Hardly had it alighted on a wild-cherry tree, when an English sparrow -flew up from a nearby ash-dump and attacked the new comer. The -harassed woodpecker flew to the next tree and the next, but was driven -on and away each time by the sparrow, until finally, with another -rattling call, it flew back to the woods from whence it had come. A -moment later a starling alighted on the same tree, unmolested by its -compatriot. - -[Illustration: THE JUNCO ON HIS WATCH TOWER] - -I followed the fields to a nearby patch of woods. It is small and -bounded on all sides by crowded roads, but at all times of the year I -find birds there. As I reached the edge of the trees white-skirted -juncos flew up in front of me. Mingled with their sharp notes, like -the clicking of pebbles, came the gentle whisper of the white-throated -sparrow, and from a nearby thicket one of them gave its strange minor -song. For its length I know of no minor strain in bird-music that is -sweeter. Like the little silver flute-trill of the pink-beaked field -sparrow, and the lovely contralto notes of the bluebird who from -mid-sky calls down, "Faraway, faraway, faraway," the song of the -white-throated sparrow is tantalizingly brief and simple in its -phrasing. Up in Canada the guides call the bird the "widow-woman." -Usually its song, except in the spring, is incomplete and apt to -flatten a little on some of the notes; but today it rang through the -rain as true and compelling as when it wakes me, from the syringa and -lilac bushes outside my sleeping-porch, some May morning. - -Through the dripping boughs I pressed far into the very centre of the -wood. In a tangle of greenbrier sounded a series of sharp irritating -chips, and a cardinal, blood-red against the leaden sky, perched -himself on a bough of a hornbeam sapling. As I watched him sitting -there in the cold rain, he seemed like some bird of the tropics which -had flamed his way north and would soon go back to the blaze of sun -and riot of color where he belonged. Yet the cardinal grosbeak stays -with us all winter, and I have seen four of the vivid males at a time, -all crimson against the white snow. To-day he looked down upon me, and -without any warning suddenly began to sing his full song in a whisper. -"Wheepl, wheepl, wheepl," he whistled with a mellow and wood-wind -note; and again, a full tone lower, "Wheepl, wheepl, wheepl." Then he -sang a lilting double-note song, "Chu-wee, chu-wee, chu-wee," ending -with a ringing whistle, "Whit, whit, whit, teu, teu, teu," and then -ran them together, "Whit-teu, whit-teu, whit-teu." As his lovely -dove-colored mate flitted jealously through the thicket, he tactfully -and smackingly cried, "Kiss, kiss, kiss," and dived into the bushes to -join her. Again and again he ran through his little repertoire, so low -that thirty feet away he could hardly be heard. Leaden clouds and dank -mists might cover the earth, but life would always be worth the living -so long as one could find snatches of jeweled songs like that sung to -me by the cardinal. As I started homeward under the dripping sky, -crimson against the dark green of a cedar tree, my friend called his -good-bye to me in one last long ringing note. - -Late that afternoon the rain stopped, the clouds rolled back, and in -the west the sky was a mass of flame, with pools of sapphire-blue and -rose-red cloud. Above, in a stretch of pure cool apple-green, floated -the newest of new moons. As the after-glow ebbed, one by one all the -wondrous tints merged into a great band of amber that barred the dark -for long. Just before it faded in the last moments of the twilight, -there shuddered across the evening air the sweetest, saddest note that -can be heard in all winter music. It was a tremolo, wailing little cry -that always makes me think of the children the pyxies stole, who can -be heard now and again in the twilight, or before dawn, calling, -calling vainly for one long gone. In the dim light in a nearby tree, I -could see the ear-tufts of the little red-brown screech-owl. Like the -beat of unseen wings, his voice trembled again and again through the -air, and answering him, I called him up to within six feet of me. -Around and around my head he flew like a great moth, his soft muffled -wings making not the faintest breath of sound, until at last he -drifted away into the dark. - -That night the temperature rose, until the very breath of spring -seemed to be in the air; and early the next morning, before even the -faint glimmer of the dawn-dusk had shown, I was awakened by hearing a -croon so soft and sweet that it ran for long through my dreams without -waking me. Again and again it sounded, like the singing ripple of a -trout brook or the happy little cradle-song that a mother ruffed -grouse makes when she broods her leaf-brown chicks. I recognized the -love-song of the little owl, months before its time--a song which -belongs to the nights when the air is full of spring scents and -hyla-calls. - -Perhaps the singer was the same bird who visited Sergeant Henny-Penny -one Christmas night. During the day the Band had taken a most -successful bird-walk. We had seen and heard some twenty different -kinds of birds; heard the white-breasted nuthatch sing his -spring-song, "Quee-quee-quee," as a Christmas carol for us; met a red -fox trotting sedately through the snow, and altogether had a most -adventurous day. That evening I was reading in front of the fire when -from Sergeant Henny-Penny's room came an S.O.S. "Fathie, come quick, -there's a nangel flyin' around my room," he called. - -I hurried, for angels flying or sitting are rarely scored on my -bird-lists. When I reached the room, Henny-Penny had burrowed so far -under the bedclothes that it seemed doubtful if he would ever reach -the surface again. When I switched on the light, at first I could see -nothing, and I began to be afraid that the "nangel" had escaped -through the open window. Finally on the picture-moulding I spied the -celestial visitor. It was a screech owl of the red phase,--they may be -either red or gray,--and when I came near it snapped its beak -fiercely, to the terror of the Sergeant under the clothes. With a -quick jump I managed to catch it. At first it puffed up its feathers -and pretended to be very fierce, but at last it snuggled into my hand -and was with difficulty persuaded to fly out again into the cold -night. - -[Illustration: NO ADMITTANCE PER ORDER, MR. SCREECH OWL] - -Another singer of the night is of course the whip-poor-will. When I -lived farther out in the country than I do now, for two successive -years I was awakened at two o'clock in the morning by a whip-poor-will -passing north and singing in the nearby woods. The third year he broke -all records by alighting on my lawn at sunset in late April. There, -under a pink dogwood tree which stood like a statue of spring, he sang -for ten minutes. Only once before have I ever heard a whip-poor-will -sing in the daylight. Once at high noon in the pine-barrens, one burst -out so loud and ringingly that the pine warbler stopped his trilling -and the prairie warbler his seven wire-thin notes which run up the -scale. It was as uncanny as when the Lone Wolf gave tongue to the -midnight hunting chorus for Mowgli, at the edge of the jungle by day. - -Now, when I live nearer civilization, and alas! farther from the -birds, I have to travel far to hear whip-poor-wills. One hour and -eleven minutes from my office in time, thirty-seven miles in space, -but a whole life away in peace and happiness and rest, I have a little -cabin in the heart of the barrens. There in spring I sleep swinging in -a hammock above a great bush of mountain-laurel, ghost-white against -the smoky water of the stream. - -Below me in the marsh, where the pitcher-plants bloom among the sweet -pepper and blueberry bushes, is a pitch-pine sapling bent almost into -a circle. Sometimes my friends cut exploration paths through the bush -or, in the winter, search for firewood, but no one is ever allowed to -touch that bent tree. There some spring night, as a little breeze, -heavy with the scent of white azalea and creamy magnolia blossoms, -sways me back and forth, from the bent tree showing dimly in the -moonlight through the tree-trunks, the whip-poor-will perches himself, -lengthwise always, and sings and sings. Through the dark rings his -hurried stressed song, with the accent heavy on the first syllable. -The singer is always afraid that some one may stop him before he -finishes, and he hurries and hurries with a little click between the -triads. At exactly eight o'clock, and again at just two in the -morning, he sings there. Up in the mountains, where we once found the -whip-poor-will's two lustrous eggs lying like great spotted pearls on -a naked bed of leaves, he sings at eight, at ten, and at three. Some -people dislike the song. To me the wild lonely voice of the unseen -singer pealing out in the dark has a strange fascination. - -There are certain bird-notes that strike strange chords whose -vibrations are lost in a mist of dreams. I remember a little runaway -boy, who stood in a clover field in a gray twilight and heard the -clanging calls of wild geese shouting down from mid-sky. Frightened, -he ran home a vast distance--at least the width of two fields. As he -ran, there seemed to come back to him the memory of a forgotten dream, -if it were a dream, in which he lay in another land, on a chill -hillside. Overhead in the darkness passed a burst of triumphant music, -and the strong singing of voices not of this earth. From that day the -trumpet-notes of the wild geese bring back through the fog of the -drifting years that same dream to him who heard them first in that -far-away, long-ago clover field. A few years ago there was a night of -April storm. Until midnight the house creaked and rattled and -clattered under a screaming gale. Then the wind died down, and a dense -fog covered the streets of the little town. Suddenly overhead sounded -the clang and clamor of a lost flock of geese that circled and -quartered over the house back and forth through the mist. That night -the dream came back so vividly that, even after the dreamer awoke, he -seemed to feel the cold dew of that hillside and hear an echo of the -singing voices. - -It was only a few months ago that this same dreamer found himself on -the shore of Delaware Bay, with the three friends who had gone -adventuring with him for so many happy years. In the middle of a maze -of woods and swamps shrouded in clouds of low-lying mist, they found -at last the nest of the bald eagle for which they were searching. It -was in the top of a towering sour-gum tree, and the great birds -circled around, giving futile little cries that sounded like the -squeaking of a slate pencil. As it was too misty to photograph the -nest and the birds, the party started off exploring until the light -became better. - -Following the song of a fox sparrow, the dreamer became separated from -the others in the mist, and after plashing through half-frozen -morasses, found himself on the barren shore of the bay itself. As he -stood there, with the white mist curling around him like smoke, from -the sea came a clamor of voices. Nearer and nearer it swept, until a -wild trumpeting sounded not thirty feet above his head. Around and -around the clanging chorus swept, while, stare as he would, he could -not spy even a feather of the flock so close above him. At the sound -the years rolled back. Once again he was in the clover field in the -gray twilight. Once again, on a far-away hillside, he heard that other -chorus of his dreams. For a moment, in the lonely mist by the sea, he -had a strange illusion that the life of which that cold hillside was a -memory was the reality, and the present the dream. - - * * * * * - -It takes five years to understand Eskimo. It takes a long lifetime to -learn bird-language. At any time, in any place, the collector of -bird-notes may hear an unknown bird or a strange song from a known -bird. Wherefore let no ornithologist vaunt himself. He may be able to -distinguish between the song of the purple finch and the warbling -vireo, or the chestnut-sided warbler, the redstart, and the yellow -warbler, and then hear some common bird, like the Maryland -yellow-throat, sing a song which he has never heard before and may -never hear again; or an oven bird, or even a phoebe, rise to the -ecstasy of a flight-song which no more resembles their everyday -measure than water resembles wine. - -Early in my experience as a bird-student, I learned to walk humbly. It -happened on this wise. I had been invited to spend my summer at a -Sanitarium for Deserted Husbands. Said retreat was maintained by a -noble-hearted benefactor in a vast, rambling cool house, bordered on -three sides by dense woods. The day of my arrival I was approached by -one of the older inmates, who, with false and flattering tongue, -praised my scanty knowledge of bird-ways, and made me promise to teach -him the different bird-songs as he heard them from the house. - -Early the next morning, as I lay in bed, there sounded a strange song. -It seemed to come from a tree at the other end of the house and -possessed a peculiar rippling, gurgling timbre. A minute or so later -my new acquaintance rushed in and seemed much pained that I did not -know the singer. Thereafter my life was burdened by that song. -Occasionally it sounded in the early morning, when I wanted to sleep -but was awakened by my enthusiastic disciple. Another time I would -hear it in the evening. One day it would come from the house, and -again from the edge of the woods. Yet, skulk and peer and listen as I -would, I could never locate the singer or identify the song. - -The revelation came one Sunday morning, as two of us were breakfasting -on the terrace close to the house. Suddenly that vile song began. It -seemed to come from near the top of a tree by the farther end of the -house. I rushed to the place, my napkin flapping as I ran. By the time -I reached the tree, the song came from the opposite side of the house. -Back I hastened, only to find that the bird had once more flitted to -the other side. I hurried there, but again that bird was gone, and a -moment later sang from the farthest end of the house. Three separate -times I circled the place, with the singer and the song always just -ahead of me. It was only when I noticed that my companion at breakfast -had fallen forward on the table overcome by emotion, that I began to -suspect the worse. I hid behind a tree and waited. A moment later I -saw the alleged bird-enthusiast, clothed in preposterous pink pajamas, -and blowing false and fluting notes on a tin bird-whistle, the silly -kind that children fill with water and blow through. I have not yet -been able to live down that bird-song. - - * * * * * - -When I was a boy, there were four of us who always hunted and fished -and tramped and explored together. We never supposed that anything -could separate us. Yet the years have blown us apart, and we go -adventuring together no more. Alone of that quartette I am left to -follow the trail that seemed in those days to have no ending. The same -years, however, have made me some amends. Once again there are four of -us who spend all our holidays in the open. We collect orchids and -bird-songs, and find new birds and nests, and quest far among the -wild-folk in our search for secrets and adventures. Sometimes we go -south, and become acquainted with blue-gray gnatcatchers and -prothonotary warblers and summer tanagers and mocking-birds and blue -grosbeaks, and other birds which we never see here. Sometimes we -explore lonely islands hidden in a maze of sand-bars, and discover -where the terns and the laughing gulls nest; or we find wonderful -things waiting for us on mountain-tops or hidden among morasses and -quaking bogs. - -Two years ago we decided to follow Spring north. First we welcomed as -usual the spring migrants and the spring flowers in April and May. -When the sky-pilgrims had passed on, and the lush growth of summer -began to show, we traveled northwards to the top of Mount Pocono, the -highest mountain of our state, and found Spring waiting for us there. -The apple blossoms were just coming out and the woods were sweet with -trailing arbutus. There we found the nests of the yellow-bellied and -alder fly-catchers, solitary vireos, and black-throated blue and -Canada and Blackburnian warblers. As once more Summer followed hard on -our heels, we took passage and traveled to a lonely camp in northern -Canada. The second day of our trip we overtook Spring again, and were -traveling through amethyst masses of rhodora and woods white with the -shad-blow. At last the apple orchards were not yet in flower, and for -the third time that year we found ourselves among the cherry blossoms. - -We never stopped until we reached a lonely bay far to the north. The -sun was westering well down the sky when at last we crowded into a -creaking buckboard for a ten-mile drive. The air was full of strange -bird-songs. From the fields came a little song that began like a -feeble song sparrow and ended in a buzz. It was the Savannah sparrow, -which I had seen every year in migration, but had never before heard -sing. At the first bend in the road we came to a bit of marshland so -full of unknown bird-notes that we stopped to explore. From the edge -of the sphagnum bog came a loud explosive song--"Chip, chip, chippy, -chippy, chippy, chippy!" The singer was a greenish-colored bird, light -underneath, with a white line through the eye, and looked much like a -red-eyed vireo except that it had a warbler beak, the which it opened -to a surprising width as it sang. It was none other than the Tennessee -warbler, so rare a bird in my part of the world that even to see one -in migration was then an event. Here it was one of the commonest birds -of that whole region. - -Then I stalked a strange vireo-song, something like the monotonous -notes of the red-eyed vireo, but softer and with a different cadence. -I finally found the singer in a little thicket, and studied it for -some ten minutes not six feet away. For the first time in my life I -had seen and heard the smallest and rarest of all the six vireos, the -Philadelphia, so named because it is never by any chance found in -Philadelphia. Its tininess and the pale yellow upper breast shading -into white were noticeable field-marks. To me it seemed a tame, dear, -beautiful little bird. - -Just at starlight we reached the camp, and I fell asleep to the weird -notes of unknown water-birds passing down the river through the -darkness. Followed a week of unalloyed happiness. Each day, from -before dawn until long after dark, we met strange birds and found new -nests and listened to unknown bird-songs. One morning we heard a loud -yap from a dead maple-stub. On its side grew what seemed to be an -orange-colored fungus. As we came nearer, it proved to be the head of -a male Arctic three-toed woodpecker, who wears an orange patch on his -forehead and shares with his undecorated spouse the pains and -pleasures of incubation. As we came nearer, he flew out of the nest, -showing his jet-black back and white throat, and fed unconcernedly up -and down the tree, even when we climbed to where we could look down at -the five ivory-white eggs he had been brooding. - -Later on we were to learn how favored above all other ornithologists -we had been, in that within one short week we had found such almost -unknown nests as those of the Arctic three-toed woodpecker, the yellow -palm, the bay-breasted, and the Tennessee warbler. We learned the -jingling little song of the yellow palm warbler, who has a -maroon-colored head, a yellow breast, and twitches his tail like a -water thrush. Another new song was the "Swee, swee, swee" of the -bay-breasted warbler, who wears a rich sombre suit of black and -bay. Over on the shore we heard the plaintive piping of the -brownish-gray-and-white piping plover, who ran ahead of us and was -hard to see against the sand. Right beside my foot I found one of the -nests, a little hollow in the warm sand, lined with broken shells, -containing four eggs, the color of wet sand all spotted with black and -gray. - -All through the woods we heard a strange wild, ringing song much like -that of the Carolina wren. "Chick-a-ree, chick-a-ree, chick-a-ree, -chick" it sounded. Then between the songs the bird sang another like a -rippling laugh, and then for variety had a note which went "Chu, chu, -chu" like a fish-hawk. It was some time before we found that these -three songs all came from the same bird, and it was much longer before -we learned the singer's name. For days and days we searched the woods -without a glimpse of him. We found at last that he was none other than -the ruby-crowned kinglet, that tiny bird with a concealed patch of -flame-colored feathers on the top of his head, who sings so -brilliantly as he passes through the Eastern states in the spring. Not -once during that week did we hear the intricate warble which is the -kinglet's spring song. Evidently this talented performer has a -different repertoire for his home engagement from that which he uses -while on the road. - -One of the most beautiful songs of that week I heard in the middle of -a marsh, up to my knees in muck, water, and sphagnum moss. Around me -grew wild callas, with their single curved dead-white petals and -pussy-toes, grasses topped with what looked like little dabs of warm -brown fur. I was painstakingly searching through the wet moss and -tangled reeds for the little hidden jewel-caskets of the -yellow-bellied flycatcher, Lincoln finch, Wilson, Tennessee, and -yellow palm warblers. I had just found my fourth yellow palm warbler's -nest, all lined with feathers, and with its four eggs like flecked -pink pearls, the nest itself so cunningly concealed in a mass of moss -and marsh-grass that the discovery of each one seemed a miracle that -would never happen again. - -Suddenly, out of a corner of my eye, I caught sight of a tiny movement -under the drooping boughs of a little spruce half hidden in a tangle -of moss. There crouched a little brown rabbit, not even half-grown, -but yet old enough to have learned that maxim of the rabbit-folk--when -in danger sit still! Not a muscle of his taut little body quivered -even when I touched him, save only his soft brown nose. That was -covered with mosquitoes, and even to save his life Bunny could not -keep from wrinkling it. It was this tiny movement that had betrayed -him. I brushed away the mosquitoes and was watching him hop away -gratefully to another cover, when down from mid-sky came a rippling -whinnying note as if from some far-away aeolian harp. As I looked, a -speck showed against the blue, which grew larger and larger, and into -sight volplaned a Wilson snipe, the driven air whining and beating -against its wings in little waves of music, and we had added to our -collection of bird-music the famous wing-song of the Wilson snipe, -even rarer than the strange flight-song of the woodcock. - -A little later one of my friends found our first olive-backed thrush's -nest, lined with porcupine-hair and black rootlets, and containing -blue eggs blotched with brown. Just beyond the nest I heard what I -thought was a gold-finch singing "Per-chickery, per-chickery." The -song was so loud that I stopped to investigate, and to my delight -found that the singer was a pine grosbeak, all rose-red against a dark -green spruce. All around us magnificent olive-sided flycatchers -shouted from their tree-tops, "Hip! three cheers! Hip! three cheers!" -and we heard the listless song of the beautiful Cape May warbler, with -its yellow and black under-parts and orange-brown eye-patch and black -crown. "Zee, zee, zee, zip," it sang, something like the song of the -blackpoll warbler, but lacking the high, glassy, crystalline notes of -that white-cheeked bird. - -I was responsible for the last bird-song which appears on the lists of -my three friends--but not on mine. We were to start back for -civilization the next morning, and I was walking along the river-bank -in the late twilight, while my more industrious and scientific -companions were writing up their notes and compiling lists of -everything seen and heard on our trip. Through the windows of the -gun-room I could see their learned backs as they bent over their -compilations. Suddenly the eerie little wail of a screech owl floated -up from the river-bank. Curiously enough, it came from the very tree -behind which I was crouching. Instantly I saw three backs straighten -and three heads peer excitedly out into the darkness. When I at last -strolled in half an hour later, they told me excitedly that they had -scored the first screech owl ever heard in that particular part of -Canada. I never told them. It is not safe to trifle with the feelings -of a scientific ornithologist. Undoubtedly my reticence in regard to -that particular bird-song is all that has saved me from occupying a -lonely grave in upper Canada. - - * * * * * - -Sweetest of all the singers, the thrush-folk--what shall I say of -them? of the veery, with its magic notes; of the hermit thrush whose -song opens the portals of another world; of the dear wood thrush who -sings at our door. While these three voices are left in the world, -there are recurrent joys that nothing can take from us. - -It was the veery song that I learned first. More years ago than I like -to remember, I walked at sunrise by a thicket, listening to bird-songs -and wondering whether there was any way by which I might come to learn -the names of the singers. One song rippled out of that thicket that -thrilled me with its strange unearthly harp-chords. "Ta-wheela, -ta-wheela, ta-wheela," it ran weirdly down the scale, and strangely -enough, was at its best at a distance and in the dusk or the early -moonlight. I was to learn later that the singer was the veery or -Wilson thrush. That was many years ago, but I have loved the bird from -that day. Once I found its nest set in the midst of a dark -rhododendron swamp; and as the mother bird slipped like a tawny shadow -from the wondrous blue eggs gleaming in the dusk, from nearby vibrated -the whirling ringing notes of its mate. Again, on a tussock in Wolf -Island Marsh I found another; and as both birds fluttered around me -with the alarm note, "Pheu, pheu," the father bird whispered a strain -of his song, and it was as if the wind had rippled the music from the -waving marsh-grasses. - -In the dawn-dusk on the top of Mount Pocono I have listened to them -singing in the rain, and their song was as dreamy sweet as the -tinkling of the spring shower. The veery song is at its best by -moonlight. I remember one late May twilight coming down to the round -green circle of an old charcoal-pit, by the side of a little lake set -deep in the hills and fringed with the tender green of the opening -leaves. That day I had climbed Kent Mountain, and seen my first eagle, -and visited a rattlesnake den, and found a dozen or so nests, and -walked many dusty miles. It was nearly dark as I slipped off my -clothes and swam through the motionless water. The still air was sweet -with little elusive waves of perfume from the blossoms of the wild -grape. Over the edge of Pond Hill the golden rim of a full moon made -the faint green tracery of the opening leaves all show in a mist of -soft moonlight. As I reached the centre of the lake, from both shores -a veery chorus began. The hermit thrush will not sing after eight, but -the veery sings well into the dark, if only the moon will shine. That -night, as from the hidden springs of the lake the heart-blood of the -hills pulsed against my tired body, the veery songs drifted across the -water, all woven with moonshine and fragrance, until it seemed as if -the moonlight and the perfume, the coolness and the song were all one. - -Some April evening between cherry-blow and apple-blossom the wood -thrush comes back. I first hear his organ-notes from the beech tree at -the foot of Violet Hill. Down from my house beside the white oak I -make haste to meet him. In 1918, he came to me on May 3; in 1917 on -April 27; and in 1916 on April 30. He seems always glad to see me, yet -with certain reserves and withdrawings quite different from the -robins, who chirp unrestrainedly at one's very feet. His well-fitting -coat of wood-brown and soft white, dusked and dotted with black, -accord with the natural dignity of the bird. It is quite impossible to -be reserved in a red waistcoat. Some of my earliest and happiest -bird-memories are of this sweet singer. - -The wood thrush has a habit of marking his nest with some patch or -shred of white, perhaps so that when he comes back from his twilight -song he may find it the more readily. Usually the mark is a bit of -paper, or a scrap of cloth, on which the nest is set. Last winter I -was walking across a frozen marsh where in late summer the blue blind -gentian hides. The long tow-colored grass of the tussocks streamed out -before a stinging wind which howled at me like a wolf. I crept through -thickets to the centre of a little wood, until I was safe from its -fierce fingers among the close-set tree-trunks. There I found the -last-year's nest of a wood thrush built on a bit of bleached -newspaper. Pulling out the paper, I read on it in weather-faded -letters, "Votes for Women!" There was no doubt in my mind that the -head of that house was a thrushigist. That is probably the reason too -why Father Thrush takes his turn on the eggs. - -Once in the depths of a swamp in the Pocono Mountains I was hunting -for the nests of the northern water thrush, which is a wood-warbler -and not a thrush at all. That temperamental bird always chooses -peculiarly disagreeable morasses for his home. In the roots of an -overturned tree by the side of the deepest and most stagnant pool that -he can conveniently find, his nest is built, unlike his twin-brother, -the Louisiana water thrush, who chooses the bank of some lonely -stream. On that day, while ploughing through mud and water and -mosquitoes, I came upon a wood thrush's nest beautifully lined with -dry green moss, with a scrap of snowy birch-bark for its marker. - -The song of the wood thrush is a strain of woodwind notes, few in -number, but inexpressibly true, mellow, and assuaging. "Cool bars of -melody--the liquid coolness of a deep spring," is how they sounded to -Thoreau. "Air--o--e, air-o-u," with a rising inflection on the "e" and -a falling cadence on the "u," is perhaps an accurate phrasing of the -notes. Many of our singers give a more elaborate performance. The -brown thrasher, that grand-opera singer who loves a tree-top and an -audience, has a more brilliant song. Yet there are few listeners who -will prefer his florid, conscious style to the simple, appealing notes -of the wood thrush. Although his is perhaps the most beautiful strain -in our everyday chorus, to me the wood thrush does not rank with -either the veery or the hermit. His song lacks the veery's magic and -the ethereal quality of the hermit, and is marred by occasional -grating bass-notes. - -My own favorite I have saved until the very last. There is an -unmatchable melody in the song of the hermit thrush found in that of -no other bird. The olive-backed thrush has a hurried unrestful song, a -combination of the notes of the wood thrush and the veery. I have -never heard that mountain-top singer, the Bicknell thrush, or him of -the far North, the gray-cheeked, or the varied thrush of the West, but -from the description of their songs I doubt if any of them possess the -qualities of the hermit. - -As I write, across the ice-bound months comes the memory of that -spring twilight when I last heard the hermit thrush sing. I was -leaning against the gnarled trunk of a great beech, between two -buttressed roots. Overhead was a green mist of unfolding leaves, and -the silver and gray light slowly faded between the bare white boles -of the wood. A few creaking grackles rowed through the sky, and in the -distance crows cawed on their way to some secret roost. Down through -the air fell the alto sky-call of the bluebirds, and robins flocking -for the night whispered greetings to each other. Below me the brook -was full of voices. It tinkled and gurgled, and around the bend at -intervals sounded a murmur so human that at first I thought some other -wanderer had discovered my refuge. It was only, however, the -mysterious babble that always sounds at intervals when a brook sings -to a human. It was as if the water were trying to speak the listener's -language, and had learned the tones but not the words. Now and again -the wind sounded in the valley below; then passed overhead with a vast -hollow roar, so high that the spice-bush thicket which hid me hardly -swayed. - -I leaned back against the vast thews and ridged muscles of the beech, -one of the generations upon generations of men who pass like dreams -under its vast branches. One of my play-time fancies in the woods is -to hark back a hundred, two hundred, three hundred years, and try to -picture what trees and animals and men I might have met there then. -Another is to choose the tree on which my life-years are to depend. -Give up the human probabilities of life, and live as long or as short -as the tree of my choice. Of course it would be a lottery. The tree -might die, or be cut down, the year after I had made my bargain; and I -used to plan how I would secure and guard the bit of woodland where my -life-tree lived. Of all those that I met, this particular beech with -the centuries behind it and the centuries yet to come, was my special -choice, for the beech is the slowest growing of all our trees. This -one towered high overhead, while its roots plunged down deep into the -living waters and its vast girth seemed as if nothing could shake it. - -That evening, as I lay against it and bargained for a share of its -years, I thought that I felt the vast trunk move as if its life -reached out to mine. Life is given to the tree and to the mammal. Why -may they not meet on some common plane? Some one, some day, will learn -the secret of that meeting-place. - -So I dreamed, when suddenly in the twilight beyond my thicket a song -began. It started with a series of cool, clear, round notes, like -those of the wood thrush but with a wilder timbre. In the world where -that singer dwells, there is no fret and fever of life and strife of -tongues. On and on the song flowed, cool and clear. Then the strain -changed. Up and up with glorious sweeps the golden voice soared. It -was as if the wood itself were speaking. There was in it youth and -hope and spring and glories of dawns and sunsets and moonlight and the -sound of the wind from far away. Again the world was young and -unfallen, nor had the gates of Heaven closed. All the long-lost dreams -of youth came true--while the hermit thrush sang. - - - MCGRATH-SHERRILL PRESS - GRAPHIC ARTS BLDG. - BOSTON - - - - -Transcriber's note: - - -Archaic and inconsistent spelling and punctuation retained. - - - - - -End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Everyday Adventures, by Samuel Scoville - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK EVERYDAY ADVENTURES *** - -***** This file should be named 40919-8.txt or 40919-8.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - http://www.gutenberg.org/4/0/9/1/40919/ - -Produced by sp1nd, Matthew Wheaton and the Online -Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This -file was produced from images generously made available -by The Internet Archive) - - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions -will be renamed. - -Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no -one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation -(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without -permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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