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ALBERT R. MANN 
 LIBRARY 
 
 New York State Colleges 
 
 OF 
 
 Agriculture and Home Economics 
 
 Cornell University 
 
Cornell University Library 
 QL 751. P22 
 
 Folk of the woods, 
 
 3 1924 002 894 412 
 
■y J 3m 
 
 Cornell University 
 Library 
 
 The original of tiiis book is in 
 tine Cornell University Library. 
 
 There are no known copyright restrictions in 
 the United States on the use of the text. 
 
 http://www.archive.org/details/cu31924002894412 
 
FOLK OF THE WOODS 
 
FOLK OF THE 
 WOODS 
 
 Lucius Crocker Pardee 
 
 IlttutrateJ By 
 
 Charles livingstonBvdl 
 
 GARDEN CITY NEWYOfkK 
 
 DOUBLEDAY.PAGE . & COMPANT 
 
 (: 01; ITT: I- U 
 
 tiNJ;V&U:.. t 1 Y 
 
Copyright, ipij, by 
 
 DOUBLEDAY, PAGE & COMPANY 
 
 All rights reserved, including that of 
 
 translation into foreign languages, 
 
 including the Scandinavian 
 
TO MY KEPHEW 
 
 PARDEE JACOBSEN 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 lAOX 
 
 The Promise of the Tree 3 
 
 Nyctea ^3 
 
 A Spring Dance ^9 
 
 Ruby-Throat 53 
 
 Indian Summer 7° 
 
 The River of Time I03 
 
CXDLOUR PLATES 
 
 "The Great Tree" . . . . Frontispiece 
 
 tACDta MCI 
 
 " When the storm was over I saw be- 
 
 neath me twinkling lights " 
 
 " My old friend, Mr. Quawk " 
 
 " On with the dance " . . . . 
 
 "She had evidently caught a number 
 of these '* 
 
 26 
 
 34 
 46 
 
 58 
 72 
 
 " Near the line of everlasting snow ' 
 
 "Up one tree and across and down 
 
 another" 90 
 
 " Smelled of the apple as he ate " . . 96 
 
 "The little brown bats were making 
 
 zigzags and circles " . . . . 108 
 
 " Seated herself on his broad, fat back " 1 1 8 
 
TEXT ILLUSTRATIONS 
 
 lAOI 
 
 " He flew up to one of the branches of 
 
 the Tree to preen his feathers " . 5 
 
 "A prowling ermine smelled our hiding- 
 place" 22 
 
 " The red-wing with his epaulets of scar- 
 let and buff was again on duty " . 36 
 
 "The bittern, one of the queerest, oddest 
 
 mannered birds of my acquaintance" 39 
 
 "Little flocks of chimney swifts were 
 
 sailing overhead " .... 54 
 
 "She settled down quietly, but all the 
 time keeping up a sharp lookout in 
 every direction " 69 
 
 "A saucy little red-squirrel scolding 
 
 away like mad " 88 
 
 "The cry of a great horned owl — 
 
 'Whoo!'" 99 
 
 "Ger-ald-i-e-e-n, come to me — pretty 
 
 girl" 106 
 
 "The slowest moving woodchuck that I 
 
 had ever seen" 116 
 
FOLK OF THE WOODS 
 
FOLK OF THE WOODS 
 
 THE PROMISE OF THE TREE 
 
 "Beneath some patriarchal tree, 
 
 I lay upon the ground; 
 His hoary arms uplifted he, 
 And all the broad leaves over me 
 Clapped their little hands in glee. 
 
 With one continuous sound." 
 
 NOW these are the stories as they were 
 told to me by the Tree, and they must 
 be true, for no tree, old or young, not even 
 the tiniest little seedling, was ever known to 
 tell anything but the strictest truth. 
 
 Indeed all trees are very particular to whom 
 they talk anyway, and never by any chance 
 say anything at all except to those whom 
 they are sure love and respect them; and this 
 Tree was so very old and so very grand and 
 dignified that such a thing as the idea of telling 
 even a fib never could have occurred to him. 
 It was a great surprise to me that he ever 
 deigned to speak at all, but I suppose that 
 it was because I helped to rid him of a 
 poisonous vine that was beginning to climb 
 
 3 
 
4 FOLK OF THE WOODS 
 
 his great trunk and would in time, he knew, 
 kill even such a giant as he was and bring 
 him low. It came about thus: I had been 
 wandering all day over the hills and through 
 the woods in search of adventure, and to 
 watch the wild things and try to learn some 
 of their secrets. Toward the end of my 
 journey I had paused at the edge of a little 
 brook that straightway began to tell me all 
 about itself and every one else of the wood- 
 land people, for you know that brooks, especi- 
 ally mountain brooks, are always talking even 
 when no one is paying the least attention 
 to them, and sometimes they tell the most 
 remarkable stories that are very hard to be- 
 lieve. 
 
 This brook was a very happy one, and its 
 voice was as silvery as a bell. When I sat 
 down by it, it was singing to itself in a quiet 
 undertone and splashing drops of water play- 
 fully at a little brown bird that had come 
 down for a drink. As the water touched him 
 he ruffled up his feathers and shook himself 
 from head to wing tips, pretending to be 
 very angry indeed, but really he liked it and 
 remained until he v/as quite thoroughly 
 sprinkled before he flew up to one of the 
 branches of the Tree to preen his feathers. 
 
FOLK OF THE WOODS 5 
 
 It was this little bird that called my attention 
 to the vine, and as soon as I saw it, I asked 
 the brook to tell me all about it and how it 
 came there. Then the brook began to whis- 
 
 " He flew up to one of the branches of the Tree 
 to preen his feathers " 
 
 per so low that I had to lean over it closely 
 in order to hear what it said. At first it 
 seemed to be humming softly to itself as if 
 thinking; then it began — "The vine will kill 
 
6 FOLK OF THE WOODS 
 
 him some day, and he knows it and is very 
 sad about it, but he cannot help himself as 
 he is unable to move. It is sending down 
 little suckers into his bark, new and new ones 
 every day, and eating his sap, and if some- 
 thing is not done he will become weaker and 
 weaker, as time goes on, and his leaves will 
 fall before their time, his branches will wither 
 and become dry, and his roots will rot in the 
 ground. Then the deadly fungi will attack 
 him, and soon his very heart will decay, and 
 one day a great wind will come and he will 
 be no longer able to stand against it as he 
 does now, for his strength will have gone 
 from him. He will bow low before the wind, 
 and shaking his poor weak branches will 
 plead for mercy, but the wind has no mercy. 
 It will blow against him stronger and stronger, 
 and bend him over farther and farther, until 
 at last his great trunk will break and he will 
 fall to rise no more. Then all the fungi of 
 the woods, and all the ants and the grubs, 
 will swarm upon him, until by and by nothing 
 will be left of him but a pile of soft earth, 
 and he will have gone the way of all trees. 
 That this is so I know, for I have seen many 
 such. Yes, I am older than the lives of many 
 trees, and I do not die until the snow, which 
 
FOLK OF THE WOODS 7 
 
 is my mother, ceases to fall upon the moun- 
 tain tops. Then I, too, must cease to be, 
 and my bed will become dry, and perchance 
 men will come and dig for the gold that there 
 is in it, but it will profit them little." All 
 this time the brook seemed very sad, but as 
 soon as it had finished, its mood turned, and 
 with a mischievous tinkle it splashed a drop 
 of water on my nose as it had on the wings 
 of the little brown bird, and ran away singing 
 its silvery song. 
 
 Then I went over and sat on one of the great 
 roots of the Tree and looked at the vine, won- 
 dering how such a slender thing could kill such 
 a giant as he was. I knew it would, though, 
 for the brook had said so, and the little brown 
 bird nodded solemnly from his perch and 
 wiped his bill upon it as if about to say some- 
 thing, but being a light-minded little fellow 
 he could not be solemn long, and so he sang 
 a little song instead. Nevertheless, I felt 
 sorry for the tree, for I loved him better than 
 I loved the vine, and I could see how it was 
 piercing his bark with its tiny suckers. After 
 looking at it for a long time and thinking 
 the matter over I resolved to try and prolong 
 the life of the Tree for a little time at any rate; 
 so, taking a small axe from my belt I chopped 
 
8 FOLK OF THE WOODS 
 
 away the root of the vine and dug it up and 
 threw it into the brook, and tore down the 
 suckers and dropped them on the ground; all 
 the time feeling quite like a gallant knight 
 who was rescuing a beautiful fairy-tale maiden 
 from some wicked dwarf that had her im- 
 prisoned. As I sat down again at the foot 
 of the Tree I looked up into his branches and 
 laid my hand on his trunk, saying: "Perhaps 
 I have not done right to try and turn aside, 
 even for a little while, the hand of Fate; but 
 it is done, and I am not sorry, for I love all 
 trees and I hate to see them die." As I said 
 these words the leaves of the tree above me 
 seemed to move softly as if stirred by a gentle 
 breeze, and a whisper as faint as the chirp of a 
 mother bird to her young came to me. Then 
 they began to rustle more and more, one 
 against the other, and the branches to creak 
 and sway this way and that, until the whole 
 tree was in motion and quivering from its 
 topmost twig away up there in the blue sky 
 to the deep roots that run no one knows how 
 far under the ground. 
 
 At first I was startled and began to back 
 away, looking upward, when I heard a voice, 
 a great, deep, musical voice, strong and sweet 
 and with a peculiar tone that I had never 
 
FOLK OF THE WOODS 9 
 
 heard before. It said, "Wait!" I stood and 
 listened. The brook was singing to the 
 willows on its banks and the little brown bird 
 had found a weed that had gone to seed, and 
 was trying to open its pod with vigorous pecks 
 and shakings, while a squirrel scampered 
 across an open space and up a neighbouring 
 sapling, scolding and frisking his tail. As I 
 waited and listened, the great voice began 
 again slowly, saying: "Son of man, you have 
 done a great deed; a good deed for me, but a 
 bad one for those that may follow. What 
 you have done, may give me many more years 
 to live than if you had not come, but it de- 
 prives a host of little things of their means of 
 living, and in the end it must be the same. 
 You cannot turn back the Wheel of Time. 
 Yet for the riddance of a great annoyance, and 
 for your good-will, I am grateful and will try 
 and reward you. What do you wish?" 
 
 I heard the Tree speak and realized that 
 even if I had, by killing an enemy of his, pro- 
 longed his life somewhat, the lengthening of 
 his span was so little compared with the years 
 he had already lived that it amounted to 
 nothing, and that in the end he must go to be 
 food for the fungi and the ants and the grubs, 
 even as if I had never existed. I also realized 
 
lo FOLK OF THE WOODS 
 
 that I had killed the vine which was young and 
 full of life. But there was the grand old Tree, 
 whose memories of days long past outreached 
 the scope of human ken, and he had asked me 
 what I wished. I said : " I do not know what 
 I desire most, or if my prayer was granted, 
 whether I would be satisfied; but I have near to 
 me, and dear to me, a little boy who knows not 
 life and its troubles, and who desires more than 
 all things else, stories, true stories of the birds 
 and of the animals, of the trees and of the 
 flowers. If you can tell me these, I will tell 
 them to him again, and he will be happy." 
 Then the leaves of the Tree began to rustle 
 again and his great sweet voice was heard say- 
 ing: "You have pleased me much by your 
 request, for had you asked for gold or power 
 I could not have given them to you. But 
 since your prayer is for a little boy, I will 
 grant it and you may repeat to him what I tell 
 you, that he may live to grow wise and be 
 happy, as do all who love and respect the wild 
 things of the field and forest, and maybe some 
 day he will come to know that what I have 
 told is true." 
 
 When the Tree had ceased to speak and all 
 was once more quiet, I began to wonder if I 
 had not been dreaming; but, no, there were 
 
FOLK OF THE WOODS ii 
 
 the torn-down bits of vine, and there was the 
 little brown bird; the brook was still talking 
 away to itself as before, and the breeze was 
 making queer little noises in and anaong the 
 leaves that sounded very like voices. 
 
 It could not have been a dream, and as I 
 reluctantly turned my face toward home I 
 felt convinced that some day I would hear 
 something further from the Tree. 
 
 The summer day was drawing to its close 
 as I turned into the narrow path which led 
 toward my home among the trees, and soon 
 my ears caught sounds of little feet; a moment 
 later with a treble shout that brought great 
 gladness to my heart, the little boy himself 
 was in my arms begging for a ride pick-a-back 
 as far as the wide porch where the trumpet- 
 creeper grew. That evening when the twi- 
 light nestled down and the big red moon came 
 peeping o'er the hills, a small brown curly 
 head pressed closely to my shoulder, and two 
 big blue eyes grew bigger and more blue as I 
 told of what the brook had said to me and of 
 the promises which the Tree had made. 
 There we sat and talked until the " Sand Man" 
 came and sprinkled poppy dust upon the tired 
 eyelids; the little head grew heavier and 
 heavier upon my arm; the questions came 
 
12 FOLK OF THE WOODS 
 
 slowly and more slowly, and I carried him up 
 to his cozy nest watching for a moment the 
 slightly parted lips and quiet breathing, stole 
 softly away wishing in my heart that I, too, 
 could lay me down " in the faith of little chil- 
 dren" and know the rest that comes to them 
 alone. 
 
NYCTEA 
 
 "And then there came both mist and snow, 
 And it grew wondrous cold." 
 
 IT WAS some time before I again saw the 
 Tree, and summer's long bright days and 
 warm moonlit nights had come and gone. 
 The leaves of all the trees, long since turned 
 to red, or gold, or bronze had fallen to the 
 earth where they were covered deep with 
 snow. 
 
 One brilliant winter's night when all the 
 out-of-door world seemed fast asleep and the 
 little boy had gone on a long journey to the far 
 Southland to escape the bitter cold, I sat in 
 my study by the fire reading and dreaming. 
 My lamp was sputtering and showed signs of 
 going out. A little spark appeared upon the 
 wick, glowing like a far-off sun, and then the 
 light grew lower and lower until the fire imps 
 began to chase the blue flames around the 
 burner and soon the firelight only was left, 
 when my book was laid aside. Great logs of 
 hickory, well seasoned, were burning in the 
 wide chimney-place sending sudden jets of 
 
 13 
 
14 FOLK OF THE WOODS 
 
 hissing blue toward me, and lighting up from 
 time to time with long tongues of ruddy flame, 
 as the wind over the chimney top spurred 
 them on to better work. For a long time I 
 sat and built imaginary castles in the glowing 
 coals. Faces, too, I saw, of bearded giants, 
 forms of animals, lions, camels, and elephants 
 which had the power of changing from one 
 form to the other as the fire burned. After a 
 while the backlog burned in two and fell 
 apart, and one up-ended piece took on the 
 shape of a great tree of fire. This made me 
 think of my Tree, and of how he was standing 
 quietly alone and asleep out in the cold night. 
 I went to the window and looked out, the 
 brilliant moonlight on the snow bringing back 
 to me the words of an old poet: 
 
 "God makes sech nights, all white an' still 
 Fur'z you can look or listen, 
 Moonshine an' snow on field an' hill, 
 All silence an' all glisten." 
 
 I had never been to the Tree at night, and 
 although it looked very cold without, I deter- 
 mined to brave it and find out how my old 
 friend was, and also if the brook had gone to 
 sleep, and if any of the birds or animals were 
 alive and stirring in spite of the bitter weather. 
 Therefore, donning my heaviest wraps and 
 
FOLK OF THE WOODS 15 
 
 strapping on a pair of snowshoes, I began my 
 tramp through the woods. My! but it was 
 cold, and how still it was ! Not a living thing 
 to be seen. The full moon was high in the 
 heavens and shone on the drifted snow so 
 brightly that it made the shadows inky black, 
 and brought out all the tiny bits of ice and 
 snow so sharply that it seemed as if each 
 scintillating star up in the sky had sent a frag- 
 ment of its own substance down to earth for 
 men to play with. Some few dead leaves 
 still hung in drooping clusters to the topmost 
 branches of the oaks, and many were lying on 
 the surface of the snow, where miniature whirl- 
 winds caught them and danced them around 
 and around, and up and down over the little 
 hills, until they were caught in the bunches 
 of dried weed stems, or were carried off down 
 some dark ravine and dropped to make a bed 
 and a warm blanket to keep the cold away 
 from next year's flowers, and hold them safe 
 from icy winds and killing frosts. When my 
 eyes became accustomed to the light, I saw 
 that I was not the only one about. Here a 
 tiny field-mouse had left his autograph beside 
 the path, showing where he had, braving owl 
 and weasel, come out for a run across the 
 snow. A little hole to one side marked his 
 
i6 FOLK OF THE WOODS 
 
 exit, and a double line of dots with a dash 
 between each pair led to another, where, 
 either because he was frightened or because 
 he had reached his next point of call, he had 
 burrowed to the grass below where he was 
 safe. Here, again, a great fox-squirrel had 
 jumped down from a tree and made a dash 
 for another, where he had hung motionless on 
 the trunk for a moment looking for possible 
 enemies, and had then gone on about his 
 business, by the treetop route, I judged, as 
 there were no more squirrel tracks upon the 
 snow. As I neared the brook I began to won- 
 der again if it still was awake, or if it, too, had 
 been lulled to sleep by the great cold with all 
 the other people of the woods except stray bits 
 of fur and feather here and there. At first 
 all seemed still and I thought "he's asleep," 
 but, no, as I put my ear to the surface of the 
 snow and broke the crust a trifle, I heard him 
 singing quietly over the pebbles on his bed 
 even as in June. 
 
 As usual he began to talk to me, and with a 
 merry tinkle in his voice, said, "Well! the 
 Tree waited long for you, and kept awake until 
 almost his last leaf had fallen and he could 
 wait no longer, but has gone to sleep until 
 spring awakens him." "Shall I have no story 
 
FOLK OF THE WOODS \^ 
 
 then?" I asked, "To be sure you will," the 
 brook replied, "but not from him. He has, 
 as he told you, many friends, and he has 
 passed the word to them to watch and wait 
 until he is again awake, and when you come 
 to tell you each one his own story." Now 
 this was really more than I deserved and I 
 was very glad that I had not been forgotten, 
 so leaving the brook I went over to the Tree 
 thinking to thank him. He was perfectly 
 still, his branches were all covered deep with 
 snow and no sign of life could I see. It was 
 therefore useless to try to talk to him, and I sat 
 down on one of the great roots and looked up 
 at him expectantly, but nothing happened 
 for a long time, so I began to think that per- 
 haps the brook had been fooling me. Of 
 course the Tree was fast asleep and nothing 
 that I could do would awaken him. The 
 night grew colder and colder and I thought of 
 my good fire at home and resolved to build one 
 here; so taking off my snowshoes and using 
 one of them for a shovel, I dug away the snow 
 until I came to dry earth, and collecting some 
 dead branches and trash from around and 
 about I soon had a cheerful blaze. I stuck 
 my snowshoes up at one end of my little snow 
 valley, and covered them with some hemlock 
 
i8 FOLK OF THE WOODS 
 
 branches for a screen against the wind, and 
 crouched down to warm myself and think 
 what I could do to express my gratitude to 
 the Tree, when he once more awakened, for not 
 forgetting his promise to me even while he 
 slept. Suddenly a great shadow drifted be- 
 tween me and the moon, and a fierce scream 
 like that of an eagle broke the stillness of the 
 night. Of course I was startled, but on such 
 anight, and in such a place, I was prepared for 
 anything, and thought that by keeping quiet 
 I would soon find the owner of the voice. 
 Sure enough, before I had really regained my 
 composure, I saw, on looking up, perched 
 high in the branches of the Tree, a great 
 snowy owl, the largest that I had ever seen. 
 His big eyes blazed like coals of fire in the 
 moonlight, and after uttering another scream 
 that must have sent every mouse and squirrel 
 within earshot scurrying to his hole or nest, 
 he snapped his beak so rapidly that it sounded 
 like the rattling of a pair of castinets. As 
 he did so he spread his wings, which must have 
 measured at least four feet from tip to tip, 
 and sailed toward me, alighting on the end of 
 one of my upturned snowshoes. He looked 
 very solemn and also very disagreeable as he 
 sat there glaring at me with never a wink in 
 
FOLK OF THE WOODS 19 
 
 his big round eyes, and I was quite prepared 
 for the scolding which followed, and which I 
 felt was due me. 
 
 "At last you are here," said he; "must I 
 wait until all of the good cold is gone and I 
 am roasted alive before I can leave this steam- 
 ing Southland? Why the fire this beautiful 
 warm night ? Have you no blood ? Where are 
 your feathers? Where have you been this 
 long time while I have waited ? Snap ! snap ! 
 snap! p-r-r-r-r-r-r! snap!" said he, rattling 
 his castinets again and making his every 
 feather stand on end until he looked like a big 
 snowball. All this and more he poured forth 
 before I could catch my breath and gather my 
 senses. Then I realized that I was being 
 addressed by none other than the great 
 Nyctea, the true spirit of the North; the one 
 who knows all that goes on "at the back of 
 beyond," as the Eskimos say. Needless to 
 say that I tried to propitiate him and calm his 
 temper, which is notoriously a bad one, as I 
 saw that his patience had been sorely tried, 
 and that he was very much put out about 
 something and I had a shrewd suspicion that 
 it was me and my procrastination. There- 
 fore I doffed my cap, and bowing low to him 
 said, "Nyctea, Nyctea, greatest of all the 
 
20 FOLK OF THE WOODS 
 
 owls, wisest of all birds, Spirit of the great 
 Northland, Scourge of the tundras. Master 
 of all that flies or creeps beneath Thy shadow, 
 grant pardon I pray Thee to Thy servant who 
 deplores his slothfulness and lack of proper 
 speed to meet Thy coming. Speak, I pray 
 Thee, if it be Thy pleasure, and I, Thy ser- 
 vant, will listen; yea though my fingers freeze 
 and my feet grow numb." As I spoke I no- 
 ticed that his ruffled plumage was gradually 
 smoothing itself out, and that his glare was a 
 trifle less malignant. "Humph!" said he in 
 quite a mollified tone, "I see that at least you 
 know my name, and are properly sorry to 
 have kept me waiting, but (here he snapped 
 his beak again, but not so fiercely this time) 
 see that it does not occur again!" The fire 
 that I had built had died down to a bed of 
 red coals which threw a ruddy glow on the 
 snow and turned the plumage of the great owl 
 to red instead of white, and I, being sheltered 
 in my trough of snow, was comfortably warm. 
 The great Tree swayed above me in the breeze, 
 and a white cloud floated like a bit of down 
 across the sky. After a pause the great one 
 began : " Stories you want, so the Tree told me. 
 I honour the Tree. Many a night and day 
 have I sat in his branches, and many's the 
 
FOLK OF THE WOODS 2i 
 
 silly squirrel and mouse, not to mention rab- 
 bits, that has regretted my presence. There- 
 fore, for his shelter kindly given, and his 
 cordial welcome hospitably extended to me 
 through my cousin, the great horned owl 
 (the Tree is nearly always asleep when I 
 arrive, you know), do I condescend to speak. 
 Yes, for his sake and no other." Here his 
 eyes glared at me anew, but I did not answer 
 the imputation. " Listen now, " he continued, 
 "and repeat to the little boy what I am 
 about to tell you, for it is true. 
 
 "Far away, so far that in that place has man 
 never yet set foot, no, not even the little yellow 
 people," I suppose that he referred to the 
 Eskimos, "nor the dirty brown people," he 
 no doubt meant the Aleut or the Kadiak 
 Indians, "ever came near to the place where 
 is my home. 
 
 "My mother, who was an owl of presence and 
 of might, and my father there built their nest. 
 On the ground it was, at the foot of a great 
 rock and full of softest feathers. My 
 brothers, eight of us there were, did not all 
 chip the shell together, but by ones and twos 
 and days apart as is the custom of the tribe 
 of Bubonidae of which I am one. I was the 
 oldest and first to see the light, and, in fact, 
 
22 
 
 FOLK OF THE WOODS 
 
 the only one to leave that nest alive. We are 
 a race of hunters as you know, and as often 
 happens to those who prey on others, we 
 become when too young or too old to fight, the 
 
 tmmmmaaiamimmamamm 
 
 " A prowling ermine smelled our hiding-place " 
 
 prey of other hunters of the wild. On one 
 night late in June when we owlets were eagerly 
 awaiting the return of our parents with some 
 dainty tidbit, a prowling ermine, such a one 
 as I understand you men value highly for his 
 
FOLK OF THE WOODS 23 
 
 fur, smelled out our hiding-place and pounced 
 down upon us, and before we could even 
 scream for help had throttled all but me, who, 
 being the strongest, managed to scramble out 
 of the nest and hide behind a stone. Scarcely 
 had the cowardly scoundrel (I hunt no babies) 
 done his bloody work than both of our parents 
 came and fell like thunderbolts upon him. 
 Vainly he shrieked and snapped, our mother 
 had her talons sunk deep into his back and 
 neck, so planted that he could not turn and 
 rend her, and in a moment all was over and 
 my baby cries were heard. I feasted full on 
 ermine flesh that night. Since then many a 
 sharp-nosed rascal have I caught and made 
 him pay in full and maybe a little over for the 
 villainy of his brother. I never did go back 
 into the nest, but, being nearly fledged, began 
 to follow my parents and learn the game of 
 life. Being now the only one to feed I had 
 more than enough to eat, and grew apace, and 
 before long was able to fend for myself, stoop- 
 ing on arctic hares and learning to lift them 
 quickly from the ground, to avoid a kick from 
 their powerful hind legs and horny claws. 
 Ptarmigan, too, I caught, but differently. 
 With these there was no danger except that 
 they mightlescape me, and so I stooped quickly, 
 
24 FOLK OF THE WOODS 
 
 and did not fold again until I was sure of my 
 hold both with talons and with beak. The 
 little lemmings were my delight though, as 
 they were many and easily caught, and formed 
 my earliest and favourite food, as they are 
 still, except when my travels take me near the 
 sea. Then I feast on little auks and murres." 
 He did not say anything about his being 
 occasionally caught eating (horrid thought) 
 the flesh of a dead horse, but I knew that this 
 was true. I did not remind him of the fact, 
 however, as I was afraid that he might not 
 like it, and I wanted to hear the end of the 
 story. After a short pause he went on: 
 "Those suspicious ptarmigan are hard to 
 catch," said he, "for they have a trick of div- 
 ing into the soft snow as soon as I appear and 
 then, with wings and feet, burrowing so rapidly 
 that I cannot follow them. By careful watch- 
 ing, however, from some high rock, I can often 
 catch them unaware, and their sweet meat well 
 repays the vigil. When I had nearly reached 
 my growth and had left my parents to shift 
 for myself, I had at first a very easy time. 
 Food was plenty and the weather was fair, but 
 then came winter, and such a. winter! I did 
 not feel the cold, I love it, but storm after 
 storm drove all of the hares and ptarmigan 
 
FOLK OF THE WOODS 25 
 
 southward, and the lemmings kept so close 
 that I was near to starving. Then one 
 brilliant starlit night occurred a great aurora, 
 that shot its long streamers of varicolored 
 light to the very zenith of the heavens. So 
 bright was it that all the snow and ice seemed 
 all aflame. When it had died away and the 
 moon arose, she was attended by her images, 
 'moon dogs' you call them, that tell of cold 
 to follow. And soon a fearful storm arose, 
 and snow and ice filled all the air so thickly 
 that it was labor even to breathe, and I was 
 blown, willy-nilly, for days, riding on the 
 wings of the wind until I had completely lost 
 my bearings. At last when the storm was 
 over I tried to make out where I was and saw 
 beneath me twinkling lights, as if the sky had 
 fallen and the stars were shining from below. 
 This frightened me and I tried to fly upward, 
 but my wings were long a-weary with my 
 seemingly endless journey, and slowly sinking 
 I came to rest upon what, had it not been for 
 lights issuing from square openings in the sides 
 of it, I would have taken for a high cliff. 
 There were many such cliffs in all directions 
 as far as I could see, with deep, straight 
 ravines between them. Far below me there 
 were many men moving about and a dull roar 
 
26 FOLK OF THE WOODS 
 
 filled the air frightening me still more, so that 
 I made myself as small as possible and kept 
 very still for a long time. After a while the 
 roaring noise became less, and the lights in the 
 cliffs disappeared, one by one. I was rested 
 now and less]f rightened, and as the day began 
 to dawn I resumed my flight. You know that 
 we white owls can see as well by day as by 
 night. As I journeyed onward the cliffs 
 became less in size and farther apart, and 
 there was no noise; so forgetting that I had 
 been made afraid, I began to think of break- 
 fast. Since that day I have learned that it 
 was a city that I had passed over, and my 
 cliffs of light were houses such as white men 
 dwell in. I have never entirely forgotten my 
 first fear, however, and when I pass a city 
 nowadays I fly high and do not stop until I 
 I have reached the woods and fields if I can 
 help it. That morning I alighted in the 
 branches of THE TREE, our Tree, yours and 
 mine. Fat, brown rabbits played about in 
 the snow, and squirrels were frisking up and 
 down the tree trunks. I could see mouse 
 holes in the snow and partridges fluttered 
 among the underbrush. Truly, thought I, 
 I have reached a land of plenty. And so it 
 proved, and from that day until now I come 
 
WHEN THE STORM WAS OVER I SAW BENEATH ME TWINKLING LIGHTS 
 
FOLK OF THE WOODS 27 
 
 each winter when the sun ceases to shine in 
 the land that is my home, and the winds pile 
 the snow too thickly there and howl too loudly 
 for me to hunt in comfort. And from that 
 day until now, have I made my home in the 
 Tree, and never has he refused me shelter nor 
 a favour that I have asked. Therefore, it is 
 as much for the love of the Tree that I come 
 now as for the fat rabbits, although the latter 
 never come amiss. When spring comes, I 
 follow the receding snow and am again at 
 home in the far North, where there is always 
 snow. 
 
 More stories could I tell you, of how a great 
 storm once carried me far across the black 
 water to an island, where I was set upon by a 
 flock of birds larger than I am, and with beaks 
 like pick-axes, who forced me to flee for my 
 life; of days and nights of lonely fishing and 
 
 hunting in the great north woods; of " 
 
 Here he broke off abruptly and turned his 
 head straight away from me although his body 
 did not move. He faced me again in a mo- 
 ment, bringing his head around with a snap 
 and blinking his eyes. "Hush," he said, 
 " I go now to get my breakfast, and this is not 
 meet for you to see. " I started to thank the 
 great Nyctea for his story, but without even 
 
28 FOLK OF THE WOODS 
 
 saying good-bye he spread his wide wings and 
 sailed away across the snow as silently as a 
 shadow. In a moment I heard a rabbit 
 scream and there was a little scuffle and a 
 beating of wings which quickly hushed, and I 
 knew that the great owl was having a feast at 
 the expense of poor bunny. I waited until 
 day dawned before I started for home, and 
 that night I dreamed of owls of an enormous 
 size, all dressed in robes of ermine and holding 
 court in a beautiful snow palace that was lit 
 within by the aurora, and guarded without by 
 moon dogs. 
 
A SPRING DANCE 
 
 "After that unheard-of coldness, 
 That intolerable winter. 
 Came the spring with all its splendour, 
 All the birds and all the blossoms. 
 All the flowers and leaves and grasses." 
 
 PERHAPS it was a sprig of arbutus that 
 did it, one which I had sent in exchange 
 for a jasmine bud that came to me from the 
 Southland just as the ice had left the brook 
 and the pussy willows were starting along its 
 banks; or maybe it was merely the homesick 
 feeling that comes to one Northern-bom in the 
 early spring and brings him back with the 
 birds; at any rate he was home again, the little 
 boy, a shade larger and very brown from the 
 bright Southern sun but just as curly as to 
 pate and with the same big blue eyes and an 
 undiminished appetite for stories. 
 
 When he arrived the air was yet too chill to 
 bide without when story time came, but when 
 I sought my big armchair by the firelight a 
 small white figure would appear at my study 
 door for a good-night kiss, and pudgy pink toes 
 
 29 
 
30 FOLK OF THE WOODS 
 
 would squirm and spread themselves to the 
 welcome warmth, when a little, a very little 
 coaxing would send us scouring the snowclad 
 hills for ptarmigan, or we would dig up 
 lemmings from their holes and hold long 
 interviews with Nyctea, the great white owl, 
 killing betimes the cruel ermine with a well- 
 aimed arrow shot just in time to save a nestful 
 of helpless owlets from destruction. 
 
 So the time passed quickly while the 
 spring was yet young, and one bright morn- 
 ing e'er the sun had risen I had been awakened 
 by a gentle breeze causing the groping tendrils 
 of a vine to swing tap-tapping to and fro 
 against my window pane. Soon eerie, fitful 
 tunes began among the twigs and branches 
 of the trees, whose half-grown leaves had not 
 as yet attained to that maturity when whis- 
 pered silken rustlings tell the listener of the 
 coming year, A single "hyla" trilled, and its 
 piping treble seemed to puncture the great 
 stillness and awake the sleeping world, 
 
 "A chill wind freshened in the pallid East 
 And brought sea-smell of newly blossomed foam, 
 And stirred the leaves and branch-hung nests of birds. 
 Fainter the glow-worm's lantern glimmered now 
 In the marsh-land and on the forest's hem, 
 And slow the dawn with purple laced the sky 
 Where sky and sea lay sharply edge to edge. 
 
FOLK OF THE WOODS 31 
 
 The purple melted, changed to violet, 
 And that to every delicate sea-shell tinge, 
 Blush pink, deep cinnabar; then no change was, 
 Save that the air had in it sense of wings, 
 Till suddenly the heavens were all aflame. 
 And it was morning. " 
 
 The night was over, and to greet the new- 
 bom day I opened wide the shutters and 
 stepped forth upon the low balcony to which 
 they led. Obeying impulse I followed the line 
 of least resistance toward the light. A winding 
 path it was, thick strewn with last year's leaves 
 and fringed on either side with brown-green 
 blades of grass and stems of weeds, each one 
 flashing its pendant jewel to the morning sun. 
 
 Through tangled undergrowth it ran, and 
 lines of saplings, the advance guard of the 
 trees. 
 
 The callow leaflets, in their swaddling 
 clothes and baby dresses, appeared in colours 
 that vied with the glorious hues which au- 
 tumn brings and are their silent swan song. 
 What a picture they made! No pen can hope 
 to portray, no artist's brush to imitate these 
 delicate shades and blendings of the early 
 spring. Here a hickory of the thickness of a 
 thumb was bearing at the tip of every twig 
 an emerald lily lined with crimson, there a 
 sturdy oakling was draped in coppery bronze; 
 
32 FOLK OF THE WOODS 
 
 poplars in snowy white and maples in scarlet, 
 green, and gray, made colour schemes inimita- 
 ble, while behind them all shone the morning 
 sun, as through the stained glass of a cathedral 
 window. 
 
 Slowly I sauntered through this maze of 
 colour, feasting my eyes, and every moment 
 finding some new object to arouse fresh 
 interest. Suddenly a stoat, still in winter 
 colours, darted across my path and down into 
 a little ravine. I followed him for a short 
 distance but of course he disappeared like a 
 will-o'-the-wisp, and I turned back and kept 
 on my way toward the lake. Here I found 
 that the night breeze had stirred up enough 
 sea to make the little breakers churn a line 
 of white foam all along the shore, although 
 at the present time only little sleepy ripples 
 lap-lapped upon the beach, and standing 
 knee deep in the water, half hidden by the 
 overhanging alder bushes, I saw my old friend 
 Mr. Quawk. I say "friend," but really he 
 was only an acquaintance, as he was always 
 somewhat too formal for true friendship. 
 Besides, he had a habit of eying one so sharply, 
 and with such a look of suspicion on occasions 
 when there was no need of it, that it was very 
 disconcerting to say the least. Of course he 
 
FOLK OF THE WOODS 33 
 
 saw me on the instant as there is but little 
 that escapes his sharp bright eyes, and woe to 
 the tadpole or minnow that comes within 
 reaching distance of his long sharp beak. 
 This morning he seemed to be in a very good 
 humour, however, and was not in the least 
 startled by my sudden advent. He slowly 
 put his other foot, which he had huddled up 
 under him at first, down into the water, and 
 half shutting his eyes, carefully arranged his 
 plumage with his beak before taking any 
 apparent notice of me. He then stepped 
 toward me in a very quiet, dignified manner, 
 lifting his feet high and putting them down 
 again as if he was afraid of making a noise. 
 This was not caution on his part this time, but 
 habit, as he must always move with exceeding 
 care if he does not wish to frighten the fish 
 and frogs on which he feeds. "Good morn- 
 ing," said he; "are you not rather late? I 
 have been waiting for you this long time." 
 "Waiting for me?" I asked. "And pray 
 what can I do for you ? I am very sorry If I 
 have put you out in any way. " 
 
 I was always very careful to be as polite as 
 possible to any of the birds I met, for I never 
 knew but that they might have a story for 
 me, and I was especially glad that I had been 
 
54 FOLK OF THE WOODS 
 
 so this time as the quawk went on to say: 
 " I have been sent by the Tree to find you and 
 to say that you are to come to him to-morrow 
 before dawn. He has something to show that 
 is well worth seeing and you would better go. " 
 "Most certainly I will go," said I, "and may 
 I ask you what it is that he has for me?" 
 "You may ask," he replied, "but I promised 
 not to tell. I will awaken you and you must 
 come quickly for there will be no time to be 
 lost, and if you are not at the appointed place 
 on the minute, you will miss everything." 
 "Very well," I replied, "I promise, and you 
 will not have to wait an instant for me when 
 you come." Here the quawk, his right name 
 is Night-Heron, but his friends all call him 
 "quawk" for short, and he does not seem to 
 mind it in the least, stretched himself, shook 
 out his plumage and putting his claws, first 
 one and then the other, through the long 
 feathers of his wing tips, he yawned, saying 
 sleepily, "Well — I cannot talk all day and 
 hunt all night, so I must be off to my roost in 
 the deep swamp." And without further 
 adieus, he spread his wings and sailed away 
 across the lake, muttering as he went, 
 " Qua-a-awk — qua-a-awk — qua-a-awk. " I 
 turned to go back home again, still follow- 
 
FOLK OF THE WOODS 35 
 
 ing the path, which now ran through a little 
 wood beyond which a meadow lies, and at 
 its edge a bit of marshland where the rushes 
 grow and in the month of June the blue- 
 flags come, close following the marsh-mar- 
 igolds. 
 
 This place of frogs and cat-tails was full 
 half a mile from where I stood, but, borne 
 down-wind, a flute-like "tong-ar-e-ee" told 
 me that the sharp-eyed sentinel of the swamp, 
 the "red-wing" with his brilliant epaulets of 
 scarlet and buff, was again on duty. "Tong- 
 ar-e-ee," it comes again, its sweet music made 
 doubly sweet as mellowed by the distance. 
 It seemed to have the sound of distant bells, 
 combined with a silvery, flute-like note, a 
 liquid tone, and running through it, a **tang" 
 as of a steel spring gently tapped. 
 
 The sound of it took me back to other days, 
 the long, long summer days of "dolce far 
 niente," and while still a-dreaming I found 
 a seat upon an old moss-covered log, and with 
 pipe in teeth and my old slouch hat pulled far 
 down over my eyes, drifted out upon the tide 
 of memory. Ah, yes; those days, those days. 
 Again I am, in fancy, afloat upon the placid 
 surface of a little lake that lies like a mirror 
 to the sky far, far away among the hills. My 
 
36 FOLK OF THE WOODS 
 
 old flat-bottomed boat is moored by its 
 clothesline painter to a bunch of rushes that 
 grows near the water's edge, and shaded from 
 
 "The *red-wing' \dth his epaulets of scarlet and buff was 
 again on duty" 
 
 the sun by a drooping willow tree that leans 
 above it. The day is much too hot to fish, 
 and I too lazy to row home, nor do I care to. 
 I lean back in the legless chair in the stern 
 
FOLK OF THE WOODS 37 
 
 sheets and speculate where the next sunfish 
 will jump and have just energy enough to won- 
 der if I should let my rod drop suddenly 
 whether that blue dragon-fly apparently 
 asleep upon the line, would fall into the water, 
 or awake in time to save himself. Lazily I 
 watch a big black water spider cross like a 
 skipping-stone from one lily-pad to another 
 and disappear in the hollow of a curled up leaf, 
 or follow with my eyes a pair of craw-fish that 
 had a battle royal over treasure-trove, down 
 deep among the water weeds. The red-wings 
 that had fought my coming with harsh " caks " 
 and sudden dartings, after poising overhead 
 and feying me in fell suspicion for a while, had 
 been disarmed by silence, and again the "all's 
 well — tong-ar-e-ee" of their lookout once 
 more reassured them. Across the water came 
 the warm, soft summer wind, blown over 
 fields of ripening grain; cattle lowed in the 
 distance, and once a dog barked. Ah, yes, 
 those days, those days. 
 
 I must have kept quiet a long time, for 
 suddenly a scurrying in the dead leaves at my 
 feet brought me back from my day dreams, 
 and I turned my head just in time to see a 
 pair of little field mice vanish into their hole 
 beneath the log on which I sat. I arose and 
 
38 FOLK OF THE WOODS 
 
 picking a small bunch of early wood-violets 
 that grew near by, resumed my walk. 
 
 You may be sure that I was up betimes the 
 next morning, and out on the porch waiting 
 for the night-heron to make his appearance, 
 long before the first streak of light illumined 
 the eastern horizon. He too was on time, and 
 soon called to me from a clump of bushes that 
 grew on the pathway leading to the woods, 
 saying, "Come! we must go swiftly, for the 
 Tree awaits you and there are others that are 
 not so patient. " He took to wing and flew on 
 ahead of me while I followed as fast as I could, 
 but it was slow work in the dark. The 
 quawk awaited me at every turn, however, 
 and it was not long before I once more stood 
 at the foot of the grand old Tree. He greeted 
 me as usual by waving his branches, and whis- 
 pered in a low tone, "Your other guide will 
 soon be here. You must follow him quickly 
 and without noise, and do exactly as he tells 
 you. He will show you where to go and will 
 then leave you, after which you must take 
 care of yourself." While he was speaking 
 I heard in the distance a curious voice, saying, 
 "Thun-der-r-r-r-pump!" so I knew that my 
 new guide was to be none other than a "stake- 
 driver," or bittern, one of the queerest, oddest 
 
FOLK OF THE WOODS 
 
 39 
 
 mannered birds of my acquaintance. It was 
 light enough by this time for me to see about 
 me for a short distance, and when a swish of 
 wings occurred I made out a large bird with 
 
 " The bittern, one of the queerest, oddest mannered birds 
 of my acquaintance " 
 
 a long beak and long legs. He was so nearly 
 the colour of the ground, however, that he was 
 hard to distinguish even in a good light, and 
 although I saw him arrive when I turned my 
 
40 FOLK OF THE WOODS 
 
 head to inquire of the Tree if this was the 
 expected one, I was not at all surprised to find 
 him invisible on again looking for him. 
 
 Remembering his tricks, I examined more 
 closely the spot where I had seen him last, 
 and sure enough, what seemed to be an old 
 stump with a splinter sticking up on one side 
 of it, was Mr. Thunderpump in one of his 
 favourite poses. When he saw that I knew 
 where he was, he straightened himself up to 
 his full height as if some one had touched a 
 spring in him, and snapping his beak several 
 times, he gave one or two hiccoughs as if he 
 felt very badly indeed and said in sepulchral 
 tones, "Thun-der-r-r-r-pump!" and after a 
 short silence as if to watch the effect on me, 
 he added, saying it very slowly, "Ker-punk 
 
 ker-punk ker-punk." It sounded 
 
 exactly as if some one was driving a stake 
 into the soft ground. This is a noise that he 
 frequently makes and is what gives him the 
 nickname of " stake-driver. " All of this took 
 but a moment or two, but the quawk looked 
 very cross although he did not say anything. 
 He began to step toward the bittern, however, 
 and ruffling up his neck feathers, he acted as 
 if he was going to fly at him and remind him 
 that daylight was almost at hand, and that 
 
FOLK OF THE WOODS 41 
 
 if he was going to take me anywhere that it 
 was high time that he was about it. Mr. 
 Thunderpump, alias Mr. Stake-driver, alias 
 Mr. Bittern, took the hint and before the 
 quawk could reach him, he nodded to me to 
 follow him and flew slowly away toward the 
 swamp. I went after him as quickly as I 
 could, stumbling over roots and grass-tangles 
 in the half-light of the early morning, crunch- 
 ing under foot the thin crackle-ice that had 
 formed during the night on the little pools 
 in tussock hollows and in the hoofprints of 
 cattle. Every hundred yards or soothe 
 bittern would wait until I had caught up to 
 him, as my progress was naturally slow. 
 I sometimes found myself wallowing in 
 swampy ground, and again dodging pools of 
 stagnant water that looked deep, or pushing 
 through tangled underbrush until at last, 
 after much patient waiting on his part, and 
 many stumbles and bramble scratches on 
 mine, he awaited me at the edge of a little 
 wood, beyond which lay the prairie. As I 
 came up he said in low guttural tones, "Now 
 you must creep, and see to it that you go 
 without sound through that clump of bushes. 
 When you reach that point, lie down, and if 
 you are quiet and patient you will soon see 
 
42 FOLK OF THE WOODS 
 
 something that very few men have witnessed, 
 and you would not if the Tree had not asked 
 as a special favour that I bring you here." 
 As soon as he stopped speaking, he "froze" 
 into the likeness of an old stump once more, 
 and when I looked for him shortly afterward 
 he had disappeared. I could hear him 
 "thunderpumping" apparently miles away 
 but he may have been close at hand for all 
 that, as he has that power of making his 
 voice sound far away when he is really near, 
 and as if it was right under one's feet when he 
 is a long way off. I did not waste any time 
 in looking for him, but devoted all my atten- 
 tion to reaching the small opening in the 
 clump of bushes as quietly as possible. Down 
 on my knees I dropped, unmindful of the wet, 
 and crept as softly as a snake toward it. It 
 was bright daylight now and a smooth grass- 
 grown glade, enclosed by a thicket of young 
 aspen and soft maple trees, opened before 
 me. The rays of the rising sun shining 
 through the new green leaves gave the air a 
 golden-green tint that fairly sparkled and 
 made it seem almost palpable, like softest 
 velvet. A light hoar frost covered the ground 
 when I arrived, but this soon melted into dew- 
 drops which reflected the prismatic colours 
 
FOLK OF THE WOODS 43 
 
 from every possible angle, as if some one had 
 strewn the grass with precious stones. For 
 some time I saw nothing but the beauty of 
 the scene, except a little wood-pewee, that 
 called his plaintive "pee-e-er-wee" again and 
 again from an outstanding branch and made 
 dashes and circles about the glade and back 
 again, always alighting at the exact spot from 
 which he had flown and then, raising his crest, 
 repeat his "pee-e-er-wee" slowly, as if he was 
 so lonesome, and never in all his life had done 
 such a wicked thing as to snap up such a 
 pretty little moth as the one whose wings 
 were even now hanging from the corners of 
 his beak. I became so interested in watching 
 him catch his breakfast that I nearly forgot 
 that I had been brought here to witness some- 
 thing out of the ordinary, and surely this was 
 not it, as peewees were almost as common as 
 robins hereabout, and I had watched their 
 antics many times. While I was wondering 
 about this, something moving in the bushes 
 at the opposite side of the glade caught my 
 eye. At once I was all attention and peering 
 beneath the brush tangle I made out that it 
 was the head of a bird, and a large one too, for 
 if he was standing on the ground, he must 
 have been nearly four feet high, as his head 
 
44 FOLK OF THE WOODS 
 
 and beak were above some bushes that I had 
 noticed in passing and which were nearly as 
 high as my shoulder. He was evidently look- 
 ing for something, as he kept stretching his 
 neck as far as he could in every direction, from 
 one side to another, and peering anxiously 
 about. I hardly dared to breathe for fear 
 that he would detect my presence, but 
 apparently he saw nothing to disturb him, as 
 he soon stepped out into the open and gave 
 a couple of grunts, or croaks, which were 
 evidently a signal of some sort, and immedi- 
 ately six or seven others appeared after him in 
 single file. I then saw that they were sand- 
 hill cranes, and big ones, too. They were in 
 full spring plumage with every feather in 
 place. Gray, brown, and buff being their 
 colours, excepting the tops of their heads on 
 which no feathers at all were to be seen, but 
 only thin black "hairs" which let the dull red 
 skin show through and gave them the appear- 
 ance of wearing red skullcaps, they were not 
 easy to distinguish against the tree trunks 
 and stems of the bushes. They were very 
 dignified birds and their stately movements, 
 as they stepped slowly one by one into the 
 glade, were very impressive. As each one 
 appeared, he or she, as the case might be. 
 
FOLK OF THE WOODS 45 
 
 stopped as the first one had done and pefered 
 about for a few seconds. Seeing nothing to 
 alarm them, they began to walk slowly about, 
 singly or in pairs, picking here and there in 
 the grass, all the while talking to each other, 
 and occasionally making little sidesteps one at 
 the other. After a short time they all gath- 
 ered in one end of the open space, and 
 the first one to appear and who seemed to be 
 a leader, suddenly began to act as if something 
 had stung him. He half spread his wings 
 and, bobbing his head up and down, capered 
 about in a most curious fashion. Now he 
 would prance like a held horse in one spot, 
 and again he was off in circles about the glade 
 with outstretched wings and beak, galloping 
 here and there as if mad and all the time snap- 
 ping his bill and uttering weird grunts and 
 croakings. His actions seemed to excite all 
 the rest and in a few moments all of them 
 went crazy together. A madder crew I never 
 saw. They danced and they capered, they 
 flapped and they jumped, while the snapping 
 of beaks and the grunting never stopped from 
 the start. For the most part they kept to- 
 gether in an ever-moving'-circle which widened 
 or narrowed from time to time, as the dance 
 was fast or slow. Every once in a while one 
 
46 FOLK OF THE WOODS 
 
 of them would lose his head completely in his 
 excitement and flap up into the air above the 
 heads of the rest, circle a few times about 
 them, and then with a loud croak alight in 
 their midst and go at it again with might and 
 main. Again one of the dancers would 
 become weary with his wild exertions and 
 squat down outside of the ring for a time to 
 rest. None paid the least attention to him 
 except to give him a dig with their feet as 
 they stepped over him, and as soon as he 
 recovered his breath, up he jumped and it 
 was, "on with the dance" as hard as ever. 
 At last they seemed to grow weary and one 
 after the other squatted down on the ground 
 seemingly exhausted. There was no "call- 
 ing quits," however, until the strongest one, 
 the leader who had first appeared, was forced 
 to give it up, and lay on the grass with out- 
 spread wings "dead beat. " After resting for 
 a while, they began to get up slowly, by ones 
 and twos and wander about the glade. Now 
 and again when two of them came together, 
 either purposely or by accident, they would 
 make the same queer little half threatening, 
 half playful sidesteps at each other, partly 
 opening their wings and holding their heads 
 well back as if to avoid attack. As I expected, 
 
FOLK OF THE WOODS 47 
 
 it was not long before one of them wandered 
 in my direction and caught sight of me behind 
 my screen of bushes. At once he gave a 
 hoarse croak and a warning cry and took to 
 wing, while the rest of them disappeared so 
 suddenly that I could not see where -they had 
 gone to. I arose quickly to my feet and tried 
 to find out which direction they had taken but 
 it was no use, so brushing as much as was 
 possible of the mud from my clothes, I made 
 my way toward the Tree. 
 
 When I had gone some distance I came upon 
 the bittern standing in the shallow waters of 
 a little stream that ran through the swamp 
 looking for minnows and small frogs. I 
 walked as noiselessly as I could on approach- 
 ing him and was fortunate enough to see him 
 make one lightning stab into the water and 
 bring forth a tiny "shiner" which he swal- 
 lowed as if it tasted remarkably good. When 
 he saw me he waded out without making the 
 slightest ripple in the water, and with a jerk 
 of his head to follow him, started as he had 
 before toward the place where I had met him. 
 Had he not been there to guide me, I do not 
 know that I would have been able to have 
 retraced my steps without some difficulty, as 
 on the way out I had paid but scant attention 
 
48 FOLK OF THE WOODS 
 
 to the direction we had taken, being fully- 
 occupied keeping him in view. In a short 
 time however I got my bearings and soon was 
 before my venerable friend the Tree, thanking 
 him for what he had done for me. He waved 
 his branches as if in protest saying, "It is 
 nothing; and I am only sorry that I cannot 
 show you more of such things, at once, but 
 I do not know where to look for them myself 
 and must wait until I can ask some of my bird 
 friends. All of the birds that come to roost 
 in my branches tell me strange tales of other 
 birds in far-off lands, many of whom are much 
 like our home birds, and others that have such 
 strange manners and customs that even I, 
 who know many birds of all sorts, find myself 
 doubting the telling of them. Many have 
 spring dances such as you have seen, both 
 here and in other countries. This I know of 
 sure report, but the one of the sandhill cranes 
 is, I am sure, among the strangest. I too 
 have seen it in the days of long ago, before the 
 white men came to build their houses near to 
 where I stand. It resembles, more than any- 
 thing else that I can think of, the dances of 
 the wild red men who used to come here In the 
 olden times and camp beneath my shade. 
 Of them, too, I could tell you weird tales that 
 
FOLK OF THE WOODS 49 
 
 would make your hair stand on end, for they 
 were a terrible lot. A little later, when the 
 sun shines the whole day through and the 
 nights are warm, there will come a visitor 
 from a country far across the sea who has 
 told me many strange stories. When he 
 comes I will send for you and perhaps I can 
 persuade him to tell you some of them." 
 Here the Tree paused, and believing him to 
 have finished I again thanked him and assured 
 him that a word from him at any time would 
 bring me speedily. 
 
 The sun by now was high in the heavens 
 and the bird world was busy; nest building, 
 singing courting songs, displaying desperate 
 and unnecessary valour, and vain coquetry 
 quite as though the diminutive actors were 
 on a man-made stage instead of among the 
 treetops. 
 
 I walked over to the brook and gave him 
 greeting, congratulating him on his being 
 once more free from the grip of winter. He 
 did not answer me this time as he was entirely 
 occupied in the singing of his great spring song 
 and his banks were full to overflowing with 
 the grist of ice and snow from the mountain 
 tops. Therefore I bade him good-bye for 
 the present and went away with a light heart 
 
so FOLK OF THE WOODS 
 
 and trusting that the Tree would send for me 
 again and soon. 
 
 I said nothing all day to the little boy about 
 what I had seen, but when evening came and 
 it was "most story time" I told him all about 
 the "quawk," "Mr. Thunderpump, " and the 
 cranes, thereby opening Pandora's box of 
 troubles for myself. Queries by the score 
 came so fast that I was put to it to answer a 
 tenth of them, and it was long past his bed- 
 time when, in order to change the subject, 
 I led the way out of doors for a moment's 
 breath and to stem the tide which was 
 threatening to engulf me. 
 
 It was very dark when we stepped out upon 
 the porch and I was about to suggest for the 
 severalth time that it was high time that 
 small boys should be in bed, when the eyes 
 that should have been full of sleep caught 
 sight of a phenomenon which for some time 
 I had been seeking but which had escaped 
 my notice. 
 
 The little boy had run ahead of me some 
 distance down the path and I was about to 
 call to him when he came scampering back 
 fairly out of breath with excitement, and 
 clutching at my legs exclaimed that there 
 was a "wild animal out there!" "What kind 
 
FOLK OF THE WOODS 51 
 
 of a wild animal?" I asked, laughing, for I 
 knew that there was nothing bigger or wilder 
 than a rabbit about. "I don't know," he 
 answered, " but it was big and black and I 
 saw his eyes shine in the dark. " As he seemed 
 somewhat frightened, I began to think that 
 perhaps my stories had been at some time too 
 realistic, and so to reassure him I said, "Non- 
 sense! it must have been old tabby hunting 
 mice in the grass." He insisted, however, 
 that whatever it was it was too big for the 
 barn cat and had "big fiery eyes," so I pro- 
 ceeded to investigate and what I found fully 
 justified his statement, although it was not 
 what he imagined it to be. On turning a bend 
 in the path, sure enough, a great black form 
 closely resembling that of a crouching animal 
 of some sort confronted me, and huge greenish 
 eyes glared ominously in my direction, and 
 had I not in other days had similar experi- 
 ences I too would have been quite as startled 
 as he was. Immediately I recognized the 
 species of the "animal" with the fierce eyes, 
 however, and told the little boy not to be 
 afraid, but to remain in the pathway and I 
 would bring it to him so that he could better 
 see how it appeared. As I had never deceived 
 him he believed me now, and, although I 
 
52 FOLK OF THE WOODS 
 
 could see that his faith was somewhat strained, 
 he remained quietly awaiting events. I 
 found when I came closer to the lights that 
 they emanated, as I had supposed, from the 
 trunk of a dead tree which had fallen to the 
 ground and had lain there so long that it was 
 about to disintegrate from dry rot, and that 
 the end which was nearest the path presented 
 two places which were beginning to show phos- 
 phorescence, the well-known "foxfire," and sel- 
 dom had I seen it brighter. Breaking off a few 
 pieces I brought them back to demonstrate to 
 the boy that his ferocious beast became blind 
 as soon as it was approached boldly and with- 
 out fear. We took the punky wood up to the 
 porch and by packing it in some damp moss 
 I was able to preserve its luminosity until the 
 next day, which happening to be a rainy one, 
 it served a most useful purpose as eyes in a 
 savage beast made of a bundle of shawls, and 
 when this was placed at the back of a dark 
 closet it caused most delightful shivers, 
 exceedingly "good hunting," and "really 
 died dead" at last when the phosphorescence 
 could be revived no more. 
 
RUBY-THROAT 
 
 "Over hill, over dale, 
 
 Through bush, through brier, 
 Over park, over pale, 
 
 Through flood, through fire, 
 I do wander everywhere. 
 Swifter than the moon's sphere; 
 And I serve the fairy queen, 
 To dew her orbs upon the green. 
 The cowslips tall her pensioners be: 
 In their gold cups spots you see; 
 Those be rubies, fairy favours. 
 In those freckles live their savours: 
 I must go seek some dewdrops here 
 And hang a pearl in every cowslip's ear." 
 
 SURELY "Time and the hour runs," and 
 before I could realize that spring had 
 flown summer was half over, and toward the 
 end of a long warm day after an acute attack 
 of "wanderlust" had carried me far along 
 dusty roads, by fields of ripening grain, and 
 through wooded uplands where the wild 
 honeysuckle was in bloom, I found myself at 
 the edge of a deserted clearing near the top of a 
 little hill that sloped toward the west. These 
 few acres of shut-in ground had so long lain 
 
 53 
 
54 
 
 FOLK OF THE WOODS 
 
 fallow and deserted by man that they had 
 become a favourite haunt of birds and the 
 small wild things of the field and forest. 
 When I came upon it that evening the sun, 
 
 ' Little flocks of chimney jwifts were aailing overhead " 
 
 which had been shining all day from a cloud- 
 less sky, was just sinking below the horizon, 
 and great streamers of rosy light radiated 
 fan-wise toward the zenith, fading softly into 
 
FOLK OF THE WOODS 55 
 
 the ever deepening blue above. The evening 
 star twinkled brightly in the west, "and the 
 thin moon, newly nascent, shone in glory, 
 meeksand sweet, as Murillo paints her crescent 
 underneath Madonna's feet." Little flocks 
 of chimney swifts were sailing overhead, 
 twittering sharply to each other as they 
 gathered their evening meal of gnats and flies. 
 As I walked into the open ground they began 
 to circle above me, and now and again one 
 would come so close to my face that I would 
 involuntarily draw back. This was a very 
 unusual thing for the swifts to do, as they 
 rarely flew so near the ground, and I began to 
 pay especial attention to them. It was not 
 long before I made up my mind that they were 
 trying to have speech with me, so taking 
 oflF my hat, I listened closely to their twitter- 
 ings as they passed my head. Soon I heard 
 the leader cry "Come to the Tree," and the 
 next one said, " Come to-morrow and see-e-e. " 
 Then they would all talk at once saying, 
 "Chipper-chipper-chipper" so fast that I 
 could make nothing of it. For several years 
 the swifts had built in an unused chimney 
 of my house and on several occasions had 
 fallen down, nest, nestlings, mother and all 
 together into the room below. At these 
 
S6 FOLK OF THE WOODS 
 
 times I had had opportunity to learn much 
 of them and their customs, as after they had 
 in a measure recovered from the panic that 
 always overcame them at the time, they had 
 become quite friendly and had told me many 
 curious things. 
 
 They come of a very proud and ancient 
 family and are very clannish, keeping entirely 
 to themselves, though they are proud of some 
 of their more handsome relations especially 
 the hummingbirds. The nighthawks, too, 
 are distant cousins, and not the swallows as 
 many people think. They are really quite 
 touchy on this point, and get into quite a pet 
 if they are called swallows, even by mistake. 
 One thing they never would tell, and that was 
 where they spent the winter. They were 
 always close mouthed on this subject, and 
 for many years people used to think that they 
 dived into the sea and buried themselves in the 
 mud at the bottom until spring. Of course 
 this is nonsense. They really go far away 
 to the south across the sea to a country not far 
 from where the hummingbirds spend the cold 
 weather. When the swifts had gone and the 
 light was failing in the western sky, the night- 
 hawks came and began to fly slowly about 
 above the treetops uttering their loud but 
 
FOLK OF THE WOODS 57 
 
 plaintive "pee-nt" again and again as they 
 flew. I walked toward the middle of the 
 clearing where the ground was stony and but 
 little grass grew, as it was on my way home, 
 but as soon as I did so one of the birds began 
 to cry very loudly and dove directly at me as 
 swiftly as an arrow. When he had nearly 
 reached me, he rebounded into the air with a 
 great booming of his wings that sounded like 
 wind blowing across the opening to a small 
 cavern in the rocks such as is often found on 
 rocky sea coasts. He repeated his apparent 
 attack on me several times and I became 
 suspicious that his mate and perhaps his 
 young were not far away. I therefore took 
 my field glass and began to study the ground 
 about me carefully. I knew better than to 
 look for a nest as I knew that the nighthawks 
 build none, but lay their eggs on the bare 
 ground. I peered about for a long time, and 
 after it had become almost too dark to see 
 clearly and I was about to give up the hunt, 
 one of what seemed to be stones lying upon 
 the ground, moved a trifle. I walked quietly 
 toward it, and sure enough, what looked like 
 a moss-covered stone turned out to be a baby 
 nighthawk. The old bird kept up his flutter- 
 ing overhead and occasionally boomed at me 
 
S8 FOLK OF THE WOODS 
 
 again with his wings but the little one paid 
 not the least attention to either of us. Before 
 long, another old one flew by a couple of times 
 and lit on the ground near the baby, but on 
 seeing me, quickly flew away again. I hastily 
 hid myself behind a tall bunch of grass and 
 waited. I was sure that this must be the 
 mother bird but I wanted to be quite certain 
 and so kept very quiet. After a while she 
 returned and again alighting, made low little, 
 motherly, coaxing noises. The little one 
 answered as well as he could and squirmed 
 around on the ground, trying to reach her. 
 He could not come very far, however, as he 
 was very little, so the mother bird, I was sure 
 that it was she by this time, dragged herself 
 over the ground toward him. Of course she 
 could not walk as her legs and feet were too 
 small for that. It was nearly dark now, 
 and as she faced me, opening her bill, 
 I was astonished to see that her mouth was all 
 alight within. For a moment this puzzled 
 me, but I happened to remember that this 
 was the season for fireflies, and on looking 
 about could see any number of them lighting 
 their little lamps in the grass and among the 
 bushes near by. She had evidently caught a 
 number of these and was about to feed them to 
 
FOLK OF THE WOODS 59 
 
 her little one. As she approached him, he 
 opened his bill as all little birds do, but 
 instead of dropping the food into it as is the 
 custom with most birds, she pushed her bill ap- 
 parently halfway down his throat and by mak- 
 ing an odd gulping motion, literally pumped 
 him full. For a few moments they lay with 
 their bills interlocked and then she took him 
 under her wing and brooded him for a while 
 before she again flew away to hunt another 
 lunch for him. When she had gone, I went 
 over and stroked the little one's head for a mo- 
 ment with my finger tip. He did not resent 
 this familiarity in the least, as he was too com- 
 fortably full of supper to care about anything. 
 His parents were too shy for me to gain speech 
 with them that night, and so I turned once 
 more toward home to make ready for the mor- 
 row, wondering what the Tree had in store 
 for me this time. 
 
 When I awoke the next morning I realized 
 that it was the dawn of Midsummer's day, 
 the longest day of the year, and all signs gave 
 promise that it would be one of the fairest. 
 There is always in every season at least one 
 day when Nature seems at her best and 
 brightest; a day that lingers in the memory, 
 and is recalled in after years as being just a 
 
6o FOLK OF THE WOODS 
 
 trifle more perfect than any of more recent 
 experience. Be the time of year what it may, 
 if one is looking for it, such a day is sure to 
 come. And on the other hand, one may wan- 
 der forth without thought of Nature or her 
 moods and, finding himself in "God's out of 
 doors " with " all de worl' laughin' itself on de 
 face," be completely carried out of himself, be- 
 coming for the time being truly a dweller in 
 the " Forest of Arden." When the evening of 
 such a day arrives, and the wanderer must re- 
 turn to the workaday world of commonplace 
 things, he will, all unconsciously, be encom- 
 passed by an atmosphere of cheerful bright- 
 ness that will influence his every act, and lend 
 a kindness i.to the acts of others. He will sing 
 in his heart with Pippa, "All's right with the 
 world." 
 
 On my way to the Tree the sun shone 
 brightly and a gentle wind blew softly on my 
 face, bringing the scent of new-mown hay, of 
 summer's flowers, the hum of bees, the twitter 
 of birds, and all the little noises that, blending 
 together, make the whole earth seem to purr 
 with warmth and happiness. As I walked, 
 I gathered a bunch of wayside flowers and 
 took them with me, and in a little wood 
 through which I passed I found some wild 
 
FOLK OF THE WOODS 6i 
 
 honeysuckle, a few sprigs of which I added 
 to my bouquet. These I dipped into the 
 brook in passing and then stuck them up in the 
 ground at the foot of the Tree, banking their 
 stems with earth to make them stand upright. 
 I made obeisance to the Tree, and after 
 emptying my pockets of a supply of nuts that 
 I had brought for a family of chipmunks that 
 had a home under his roots, I lay down on the 
 soft grass beneath his shadow and, looking up 
 at the blue sky through the rustling leaves 
 above me, "invited my soul." Bees and 
 wasps buzzed about me, attracted by my 
 flowers, and the little striped chipmunks 
 scampered over my feet gathering in the nuts 
 as fast as they could and carrying them down 
 into their storehouse underneath the ground. 
 The Tree did not address me for some time, 
 and I asked him no questions, as I was sure 
 that he would speak to me in his own good 
 time, and it is not well to try and hurry him. 
 Soothed by the quiet peacefulness of the day 
 and the soft summer air about me, I had fallen 
 into a reverie, from which I was aroused by a 
 loud humming close to my ear. Without 
 turning my head I looked in the direction 
 from which it seemed to come and saw close 
 to me, busily investigating my flowers, a 
 
62 FOLK OF THE WOODS 
 
 ruby-throat hummingbird. Here was a treat ! 
 What a little living jewel he was! What 
 absolute certainty of motion he possessed. 
 It was a pleasure to watch him, as he was so 
 intensively alive. His back was of the bright- 
 est green; each feather of it, seemingly 
 endowed with a separate motion, glistened 
 and glinted in the sunshine like a tiny emerald. 
 At his throat he wore the ruby that gives him 
 his name, and it too flashed spurts of brilliant 
 colour with each motion that he made, now 
 being deep blood red, now garnet, and again 
 almost black in its velvety softness. His 
 wings of course I could not see except as hazy 
 outlines, as they were moved so rapidly, but 
 his tail, which he kept opening and shutting 
 like a fan, was of a brownish colour, showing 
 purplish dashes on it when the light struck 
 it at the proper angle. He did not mind me in 
 the least, but darted over to where I lay and 
 began to investigate some of the flowers that 
 I still held in my hand. Here and there he 
 buzzed, busy and certain, apparently knowing 
 exactly where he was going next, and doing 
 so without haste and yet with all possible 
 speed. Soon he was joined by his little mate, 
 and together they flew from flower to flower, 
 as much like two fairy sprites as any I ever 
 
FOLK OF THE WOODS 63 
 
 hope to see. The little mother was much 
 more quietly dressed than was the male bird, 
 and wore no ruby at her throat, nor were her 
 greenish tints quite so bright. This is as it 
 should be, for she must remain on her nest in 
 times of danger when her dull colours are a pro- 
 tection; whereas if she was as brilliantly cos- 
 tumed as her mate, she would be seen at once 
 and pay the penalty of her conspicuousness. 
 They were both perfectly quiet except for the 
 continual hum of their wings until a second 
 male bird appeared, when the first to arrive 
 attacked him like a little fury. He darted at 
 him like a streak of fire and they buzzed 
 about in the air like a pinwheel with their 
 beaks locked together until they had nearly 
 fallen to the ground, when they separated, and 
 the stranger disappeared. Just then a fly- 
 catcher lit on a twig above them, I doubt 
 if he even knew that they were near, but the 
 two of them sat upon him without a second's 
 hesitation and chased him away as crows 
 chase a hawk. When he was driven off, the 
 little mother bird flew up into the Tree and 
 vanished among the leaves, while the 
 victor of two fights lit upon the stem of a 
 honeysuckle and began to preen his feathers. 
 Then I saw that his wings and tail were of the 
 
64 FOLK OF THE WOODS 
 
 same"colour and did not share with his other 
 parts their beautiful iridescence. He was 
 still angry from his encounters and squeaked 
 once in a while as if in defiance. When he 
 had calmed down a bit, and had had another 
 dip into the flowers, I spoke to him, saying, 
 "I am glad that you whipped them, they 
 had no business hunting so near your nest." 
 Now I did not know that he had a nest near 
 by but I wanted to find out, and quickly I 
 did so, for he flew like a little arrow into my 
 face, as he had at the flycatcher, but stopping 
 a few inches away he began to squeak angrily, 
 saying, "Do you keep away from that nest! 
 Understand? I will not have the mother 
 disturbed while she is caring for the eggs and 
 her young." He buzzed so angrily and 
 squeaked so fast that I was sure that I had 
 mortally offended him, and that my chances 
 of getting a story from him were slim indeed. 
 Just then the Tree began to speak, quietly, 
 as he always did, and as if speaking to a child 
 in a temper. "Hush," he whispered to the 
 bird, " there is no harm. This man is a friend 
 of all birds. Tell him of your travels and 
 adventures and he will keep marauding 
 squirrels and cats from your home, and will 
 bring you good things to eat whenever he 
 
FOLK OF THE WOODS 65 
 
 can. " " Indeed I will, " I said ; " I would not 
 disturb your nest for any gift." "Perhaps 
 you will and perhaps you will not," said he 
 with evident suspicion. " How am I to know ? 
 Now I go about my business, but I may return 
 in half an hour, and if there is anything here 
 for me to eat that is worthy of my notice, I 
 may tell you something, but I do not promise." 
 With this he darted away and was instantly 
 lost to sight among the trees. Now what was 
 I to do? The Tree had promised that I 
 would provide some dainty for him to eat, 
 and how was I to get it? I was too far from 
 home to get there and back in half an hour, 
 and I was sure that such a little firebrand as 
 the ruby-throat had shown himself to be 
 would go away in a temper if I did not get 
 something, so I asked the Tree about it. He 
 was silent a few moments as if in thought 
 and then replied: "Last year there was a 
 nest of white-faced hornets on one of my 
 branches, and I used to see them flying about 
 an old hollow log that lies on the other side of 
 the brook, catching flies that seemed to swarm 
 about it. Long before that some wild bees 
 had a nest there but they were all killed by 
 the cold one winter. I suspect that there is 
 still some of their honey left and that you 
 
66 FOLK OF THE WOODS 
 
 can get it if you will look for it. " It did not 
 take me long to locate the log to which he re- 
 ferred, and by chopping away a big piece from 
 the side of it, I found, away up in one end, a 
 small piece of sugar-covered honeycomb which 
 had in some way escaped the ants and flies. 
 I dug this out, and, picking a red wood-lily 
 that was growing near by, dropped a bit of 
 the honey into it dissolving it with a few drops 
 of water from the brook. This I placed in the 
 middle of my bunch of honeysuckle and sat 
 down to wait. Then the Tree said to me: 
 " If you will go quietly to the other side of my 
 trunk and look carefully along my lowest 
 branch, on the upper side near the end you 
 will see their nest. Do not go too close or 
 you will frighten the mother as she is sitting 
 on the eggs now and I expect that the young 
 ones will soon be out of their shells. " 
 
 I peeped softly around the great trunk and 
 with my powerful field glass I searched the 
 branch in question as carefully as I could, and 
 although the Tree had told me exactly where 
 to look, it was a long time before I could make 
 out anything that even looked like a nest. 
 Finally, just as I was about to say to the Tree 
 that he must be mistaken, out of what I had 
 taken to be an old knot on the branch, the 
 
FOLK OF THE WOODS e^ 
 
 mother flew so quickly that I had only just 
 time to note the place she had flown from be- 
 fore she was gone. I immediately examined 
 the nest as well as possible through the glass, 
 as I did not wish to go near it as long as 
 it was occupied for fear the old birds would re- 
 turn and find me at it and become frightened 
 and desert their eggs. Then I saw what a tiny 
 thing it was. It was just about the size 
 of half of the shell of an English wal- 
 nut, and was covered on the outside with 
 bits of lichen such as grows on rocks and 
 the trunks of trees, as well as some small 
 pieces of the bark of the Tree himself, which 
 made it look so much a part of the branch on 
 which it was placed that if I had not been told 
 just where to look, and at the same time seen 
 the bird itself fly off, I would never have sus- 
 pected that it was there. I wanted very 
 much to see the inside of the nest, so now that 
 the mother was away I thought it would be a 
 good time to do so. Fortunately there was 
 a small maple tree growing close at hand from 
 which I could see into it without disturbing 
 it in the least. I climbed into its branches 
 as quickly as I could and was able to get a 
 good view before the little hummer came back. 
 The nest was grayish white within and con- 
 
68 FOLK OF THE WOODS 
 
 tained two of the tiniest eggs that I had ever 
 beheld. They were about the size of big peas, 
 and one wondered to look at them and think 
 that each contained a living creature that 
 would in a few weeks be able to fly about with 
 the lightning-like rapidity of which all these 
 little birds possess the power. The eggs were 
 perfectly white and had no markings on them 
 such as are seen on the eggs of some birds. 
 Having noted these facts in a moment, I 
 clambered down again just in time to see the 
 mother bird returning. She paused in the air 
 about twenty feet away from the nest and 
 looked sharply about to see if she was ob- 
 served, then she would dart ahead a few feet 
 and again pause. Finally, seeing that all was 
 well and no enemies were about, she flew 
 straight to the nest and lit directly into it, and 
 after turning about a couple of times, settled 
 down quietly, but all the time keeping up a 
 sharp lookout in every direction. I had just 
 lain down again beneath the Tree when the 
 little ruby-throat came back. He found my 
 honey in the red lily at once, and supped it 
 with evident relish, adding by way of dessert 
 a couple of small insects that were also enjoy- 
 ing a drink of the sweets before he arrived. 
 When he had finished, he lit once more upon 
 
FOLK OF THE WOODS 
 
 69 
 
 the sprig of honeysuckle, and after preening 
 himself carefully, 'said, "Thank you, it was 
 somewhat stale, but fairly good. Have you 
 any more?" "Plenty," I replied, for I had 
 
 "She settled down quietly, but all the time keeping up 
 a sharp lookout in every direction" 
 
 brought quite a large piece, and I fixed him 
 another flower cupful which he drank and 
 then began to talk to me about himself and 
 his doings. "In the first place," said he, "I 
 
70 FOLK OF THE WOODS 
 
 would like to correct a superstition (he used 
 very long words for such a small bird) that 
 some of you men have, and that is that we 
 hummingbirds go about after dark. That is 
 not so. What you take for one of us is noth- 
 ing more than a measly old moth that is all 
 long tongue and fat body and with not the 
 sign of a feather on him. They call him 
 * Sphinx.' Sphinx indeed ! The only sphinx- 
 like quality that he possesses is in keeping 
 quiet when he is called a hummingbird. I do 
 not much care for the name 'hummingbird,' 
 anyway. Far away where I go when the 
 flowers here are all gone, the people call us 
 ' Chuparosas,' which I think is a much nicer 
 name. My family, which is a very old and a 
 very large one — there are over five hundred 
 branches, all good Americans, too, with no 
 foreign interlopers anywhere — all have our 
 winter home far away across the sea where it 
 is never cold. There we stay until spring 
 begins in the Northlands, when we follow the 
 blossoming flowers as they appear, going back 
 again as soon as their season is over. We do 
 not all go in the same direction from the warm 
 countries, but scatter thousands of miles apart, 
 each kind going more or less by itself. We 
 ruby-throats come here and beyond, some of 
 
FOLK OF THE WOODS 71 
 
 us going as far to the north as a land that men 
 call Labrador, and another of us goes all the 
 way to Alaska to build his nest. There is one 
 great fellow, the giant of our tribe, that goes 
 the other way and finds his home at the other 
 end of the world in a country that is called 
 Terra del Fuego, or the Land of Fire. This 
 hummer is almost too big to be thought one 
 of us, being nearly as large as a robin. Some 
 of us do not fly so far, but find places which 
 they fancy nearer home at the tops of tall 
 mountains and spend nearly all of their lives 
 near the line of everlasting snow. Almost 
 all of us have brilliant colours except one or 
 two whom we call hermits, partially because 
 of their sad-coloured feathers, and partially 
 because they like to live in the depths of what 
 seems to most of us a gloomy forest." Do 
 not think that the little hummer told me all of 
 this at one time as he was constantly on the 
 move, and sometimes he would disappear for 
 quite a time, and then would return with a 
 buzz and a dart, and go on with his story as if 
 there had been no interruption. Thus I 
 learned that according to his views, and he 
 was a very vain little fellow, his people were 
 the only members of the bird family whose 
 colours could be compared with precious 
 
72 FOLK OF THE WOODS 
 
 stones, and when I came to think of this it was 
 really so. Even the most brilliant of gems 
 fail to do justice to the more brightly painted 
 of the little chuparosas. Think of one mem- 
 ber that he mentioned as not being content 
 with the colour of living flame in his feathers, 
 but was able by slightly moving them to 
 change instantly to a most beautiful azure 
 blue, while others wear, in addition to their 
 gaudy colourings, most wonderful head- 
 dresses that make them look like weird little 
 monsters or hobgoblins. Some of them have 
 long tails like birds of Paradise, and others 
 have little fluffy, downy boots of snowy white. 
 Many more stories he told me, of strange birds 
 with stranger manners and customs ; and of the 
 wild beasts, and bats, and reptiles that live 
 in the hot countries, each of which would make 
 a long story all by itself. When the shadows 
 had begun to lengthen and the sun to sink 
 toward the west, he flew away to return no 
 more that day. For a long time I lay think- 
 ing over what he had told me, and marvelling 
 for the hundredth time that such a tiny bit of 
 feather, bone, and sinew could, alone and 
 unguided, save by its own unerring instinct, 
 travel thousands and thousands of miles over 
 land and sea, and each year return to almost 
 
FOLK OF THE WOODS 73 
 
 the exact spot where it had been the year 
 before. Thus I lay, thinking and dreaming, 
 and wondering, until, lulled by — 
 
 "A noise like of a hidden brook 
 
 In the leafy month of June, 
 That to the sleepy woods all night 
 
 Singeth a quiet tune" — 
 
 I fell into a doze, and when I awoke the stars 
 were out and a little brown bat was making 
 zig-zags in the dusk above me and chattering 
 as he flew. Many times after that I visited 
 the hummer's nest in the old Tree, and when 
 the young ones were out of the shell, although 
 they were no bigger than bumblebees, I could 
 see the family resemblance to the nighthawks, 
 for their bills were short and their mouths 
 large, and they were fed in the same way. It 
 was not until they were quite well grown that 
 they began to look in the least like their 
 parents. I also discovered after they were 
 gone that the nest was made almost en- 
 tirely of spider webs and dandelion down. 
 When they were fully fledged they left the 
 nest and were able to fly swiftly at once, and 
 so departed to return to their home nest no 
 more. Before they left, however, I got the 
 little ruby-throat to promise that he would 
 
74 FOLK OF THE WOODS 
 
 visit the trumpet-creeper vine above my door 
 on his way south, telling him that there would 
 always be a good supply of sweets for him; 
 a bargain that we both kept through many 
 seasons. 
 
 Not only did the ruby-throat himself come 
 to visit the vine, but he must have told all of 
 his friends and relatives, for while the blos- 
 soms lasted we heard all day the busy hum 
 of the chuparosas. At the beginning of the 
 summer they were somewhat shy, but as soon 
 as they had found the honey cups which I 
 prepared for them, they would come readily 
 while I held the dainty feast in my hand. It 
 was some time before I could teach the small 
 boy to do likewise as he could not hold still 
 very long, being on the point of exploding with 
 enthusiasm and admiration the moment one 
 appeared, while at the same time his fingers 
 fairly itched to catch it. When he became 
 used to seeing them about, however, he made 
 it his daily task to prepare the honey cups and 
 place them where the ruby-throats would find 
 them, and he would spend hours in watching 
 for them to come. 
 
 One evening a large hawk moth visited his 
 sweets and he had an opportunity to see for 
 himself the likeness it bore when flying to his 
 
FOLK OF THE WOODS 75 
 
 little daytime pets. After the birds had 
 gone I brought him the deserted nest, which 
 he placed among his odds and ends of treas- 
 ures, the catalogue of which would vie with 
 that of a museum as to miscellany. 
 
INDIAN SUMMER 
 
 "Decking herself in autumn's cheeriest tints. 
 Clad in a veil impalpable as breath. 
 One long, warm kiss upon the earth she print*, 
 And, smiling to the last, goes down to death. " 
 
 HAVING spent with the little boy a long- 
 promised day in the woods, where he had 
 followed his own sweet will until the slanting 
 shadows gave warning of the flight of time, 
 and where he had wandered to the farthest 
 limit of the sound of my whistled call, time and 
 again, until the little legs should have been 
 completely fagged, but on the contrary were 
 seemingly quite as lively as ever; I scattered 
 the remnants of our noonday feast to the birds 
 and chipmunks, and gave the signal for the 
 homeward start. Though loath to leave he 
 was glad to do anything to be in motion, and 
 started some distance ahead of me down the 
 path. We had gone but a short way when I 
 heard him call to me to come quickly. I 
 arrived to find him pointing excitedly at the 
 top of a tall weed which chanced to be the 
 stage on which was set one of the countless 
 
 76 
 
FOLK OF THE WOODS 77 
 
 small tragedies that so continually occur un- 
 noticed among the myriads of little lives be- 
 gun and ended beneath our line of vision. 
 
 The brilliant colouring of the setting and 
 of the costumes of the actors had doubtless 
 caught his eye when otherwise he might have 
 passed them by. A rather large spider, of the 
 sort that haunts the hearts of flowers and, 
 building no web, lies deep within the blossom 
 ready to pounce upon whatever may appear 
 that is not too large to kill without too great 
 a risk, had perched himself upon a spike of 
 purple vervain where he had fastened on and 
 now was devouring a black and yellow robber- 
 fly. The fly looked very much like a small 
 bumblebee, and the spider was of a creamy 
 white except for a perfect square in the centre 
 of its abdomen which was a brilliant ruby red. 
 With both the actors and the setting of their 
 little life and death scene I was familiar, but 
 not in combination. Purple and yellow and 
 black, white and ruby red; they made a colour 
 scheme which recalled to my mind a red letter 
 bird-day in June just past, when I had caught 
 a scarlet tanager, and indigo-bunting, and a 
 goldfinch all sitting on a strand of barbed-wire 
 fencing within a few feet of each other. 
 
 I did not disturb the spider and its victim. 
 
78 FOLK OF THE WOODS 
 
 but kept on toward the open fields where the 
 masses of goldenrod in bloom caused me to 
 realize that summer was drawing to a close. 
 We crossed the meadow, and peering beneath 
 the plank bridge that spans the stream where 
 the cattle drink, I pointed out the now deserted 
 phoebe's nest, and started up a small flock 
 of bobolinks, quite silent now and with their 
 courting clothes all cast aside; they were 
 dressed in their more sober travelling suits of 
 brown and were about to start on their long 
 flight southward. The little boy did not rec- 
 ognize them until I told him what they were. 
 "If they only knew," I said to him, "that 
 when they arrive at their winter quarters they 
 will be known as ' reed birds' and be served up 
 on toast to southern gourmands, they might 
 conclude that this was the better place to 
 spend the cold weather." This impressed 
 the little boy so greatly that he was for in- 
 forming them of their danger on the spot, and 
 although he tried I am quite sure that he 
 failed, and they flew away all unconscious of 
 their probable fate, as had uncounted genera- 
 tions before them. I could not help wishing 
 nevertheless that they might have understood, 
 for I did not like to think of a possible time 
 when there would be no more bobolinks. 
 
FOLK OF THE WOODS 79 
 
 On reaching the brook I found that it was 
 much more quiet than in the springtime, but 
 quite as cheerful and ready to talk. It was 
 otherwise with the Tree, however. He 
 seemed silent and moody, and when I spoke 
 to him he answered with a tired air, saying 
 that there was no story for me just at present, 
 but that if I would return a little later he 
 would at least appreciate my greeting and 
 farewell before he again began his long winter 
 nap. This was the time of year when every- 
 thing seems to be at a standstill, as if resting 
 from the toilsome days of ripening and 
 fruition. No new leaf buds were forming 
 now, and the birds were gathered in loose, 
 mingled flocks with their newly fledged sum- 
 mer broods in full feather and eager for the 
 winter migration to begin, while the older 
 ones still tarried near the familiar nesting 
 places as if loath to leave them. I respected 
 the quiet of the Tree and left him to his medi- 
 tations, taking note on the way home that the 
 hickories were beginning to lose their leaves ; 
 a sure sign that the colour dance of autumn 
 was not far distant. 
 
 It was fortunate that I had taken the little 
 boy to the woods when I did, for in a few days 
 came the rains, brought down from the north- 
 
8o FOLK OF THE WOODS 
 
 west by heavy gray clouds flying low above the 
 treetops; the wind behind them bending the 
 trees to the ground before it and driving all 
 the birds to warmer climes. 
 
 When the sun shone again the earth seemed 
 newly washed and the leaves appeared as green 
 and fresh as in the spring, but there was a 
 diflterence that was very noticeable to one who 
 looked beneath the surface of things; the 
 great change had come. The gay and busy 
 insect life which forms such a prominent part 
 of the long summer afternoons was hushed, 
 except for the occasional chirr of a cricket or 
 the drowsy scraping of a belated katydid half 
 chilled by the early frosts. 
 
 The evening mists that hang above the low 
 lying meadow lands came earlier now and 
 were of a denser white, and In the early morn- 
 ings a light hoar frost could be seen upon the 
 grass. Then the leaves began to turn. First 
 the poison-ivy by the wayside changed to 
 crimson, tempting careless or unwitting 
 fingers to gather its leaves and rest In ban- 
 dages and liniments for some time afterward. 
 Then came the maples in a perfect riot of 
 colour, red, crimson, scarlet, orange and all 
 the shades between, with here and there one, 
 that in its overflowing thankfulness for all the 
 
'FOLK OF THE WOODS 8i 
 
 glorious days that had been vouchsafed it, had 
 turned to burnished gold, as if trying to give 
 back to summer all the golden sunshine that 
 it had received throughout the year. The 
 oaks were content with the more sober shades 
 as became their dignity, and appeared in dark 
 maroons or deep mahogany tints, relieved in 
 spots by streaks and splotches of red or yellow; 
 and even the weeds of the fields decked them- 
 selves in purplish grays, and yellow-greens, 
 that blended with the brownish yellow of the 
 grass and formed a background for their more 
 gaily dressed relatives. When I sought the 
 Tree I found him quite carried out of himself 
 with the festivities of the season, and he said 
 that he would be glad to tell me his own story 
 except for the fact that it was such a long one; 
 being practically the story of the world, it 
 would take until spring before he had finished. 
 He would therefore much prefer to begin it in 
 the early part of the year when he was re- 
 freshed from his winter's sleep. Then, as if 
 the very name of sleep had suggested it to him, 
 he began to show unmistakable signs of be- 
 coming drowsy, so I wished him "pleasant 
 dreams" and went my way, sure that he 
 would leave some message with one of his 
 many friends to deliver to me when I should 
 
82 FOLK OF THE WOODS 
 
 come that way again. Before I left he waved 
 adieu with his branches and dropped a leaf all 
 red, and purple, and gold into my lap as a good 
 night, and I felt it almost as a benediction. 
 It was not long after this that Keewaydin sent 
 down the first scouts of winter and the leaves 
 all turned from red and gold to brown, apd 
 fell to the ground in heaps beneath the trees, 
 or were blown hither and thither by the winds, 
 and it seemed as if. the cold had come to stay. 
 One day, however, before any snow had fallen, 
 the lowering clouds were swept away and the 
 sun shone even as in summer, and the nights 
 were brilliant with a great golden moon and 
 balmy as in June. Then the air had in it smell 
 of wood smoke and of burning leaves, and 
 a haze filled the valleys even at noon, making 
 the distant hills more blue and seemingly more 
 remote than ever. On such a day, when the 
 air was like wine and the sky without a cloud, 
 my wanderings through the autumn woods led 
 me to the edge of a high bluff overlooking the 
 lake. Below me the sand and surf made white 
 and golden parallels in each direction as far 
 as the eye could reach, and here, sheltered 
 from the north wind and warmed by the sun, 
 a little thicket of stag-horn sumach and wil- 
 low sprouts had taken root. These still held 
 
FOLK OF THE WOODS 83 
 
 their leaves, which ranged in colour from the 
 crimson of the sumach to the greenish gold 
 of the willow, and between these and below 
 them on the slope was mass on mass of the 
 beautiful blue-fringed gentian. Scarcely had 
 I seated myself to enjoy the peaceful quiet 
 that seemed to breathe throughout the scene, 
 when both peace and quiet were disturbed 
 as a vesper sparrow fleeing for his life, and pur- 
 sued by a great northern shrike which was hot 
 upon his trail, dashed frantically into a thick 
 bush. I was glad to see the flash of the two 
 white tail feathers as the little one disappeared 
 where the cruel shrike could not follow. The 
 butcher-bird must have come down from his 
 northern haunts somewhat earlier than usual 
 this year, or perhaps it was the vesper sparrow 
 that had overstayed his time, for as a rule 
 he manages to escape attack from this ogre 
 of the small-birds world. To do the shrike 
 full justice I must say that, for the most part, 
 his kills consist of the pestiferous English 
 sparrow, whose death I do not mourn, so that 
 I could not be as hard upon him as I might 
 otherwise have been. I did object to his 
 taking the life of the little vesper sparrow, 
 however, and was exceedingly glad to note his 
 failure this time in his effort to hush forever 
 
84 FOLK OF THE WOODS 
 
 the voice of one of the sweetest songsters of 
 the woods and fields. To see him in the early 
 spring, or even in December, for that matter, 
 perched upon the tip of some small sapling, 
 or the outstanding branch of a larger tree, 
 singing his song, which by the way is not at 
 all unpleasing and sounds not unlike that of 
 the catbird, one could truthfully say that the 
 shrike was certainly the mildest mannered 
 pirate that ever slit a throat. Another good 
 word can I say for him, and that is, when he 
 kills he does so quickly, and does not torture 
 his victim, as I have seen a bluejay do, pound- 
 ing out a helpless nestling's brains while his 
 mate kept watch for the murderer and twit- 
 tered continual encouragement from a neigh- 
 bouring tree. Moreover, the shrike eats 
 many mice and grasshoppers, and in the end 
 is much more of a benefit than a harm to man, 
 and is not a marplot, which is more than I can 
 say for t,he jays. Many's the time that they 
 have undone in one minute the work of a half- 
 hour's stalk, after days of patient waiting to 
 catch a snapshot of some rare bird that I had 
 just succeeded in approaching, when their 
 miserable squawking and their yell of "Thief, 
 thief, thief!" spoiled everything at the last 
 moment. If the shrike had appeared at such 
 
FOLK OF THE WOODS 85 
 
 a time and evinced a strong desire for bluej ay- 
 meat, I am sure that I would gladly have 
 supplied him with a private thorn tree upon 
 which to hang as many of the rascals as he 
 wished. This habit of the shrike of hanging 
 his quarry upon the spikes of a thorn tree or 
 of a barbed-wire fence, if one is handy, is an 
 odd and cruel one peculiar to himself and his 
 cousin the loggerhead. Why he does this no 
 one knows, for he often kills more than he can 
 eat, and the little carcases are often found 
 hanging in his thorn tree larder long after he 
 has flown away to his breeding place in the 
 far north. After seeing that this particular 
 specimen of the Laniidae had abandoned his 
 vesper-sparrow hunt, I turned to retrace my 
 steps and go toward the brook, which I had 
 intended visiting that day. As I passed 
 through the woods again I flushed a small 
 flock of juncos which flew twittering up into a 
 low tree, and high in the branches of a tall 
 elm I could hear the ever-welcome "see soon" 
 song of a chickadee. He quickly showed 
 himself, as he is not at all shy, and I amused 
 myself for a few moments watching his won- 
 derful acrobatic performances about the twigs 
 and branches in search of the hidden sleeping 
 places of moth pupae and spider nests. To 
 
86 FOLK OF THE WOODS 
 
 the chickadee and the song sparrow we must 
 give the palm for cheerfulness, one for the 
 spring and summer, and the other for the 
 autumn and winter, for they never fail, rain 
 or shine, blow high, blow low, to voice their 
 perennial gladness to the listening ear. 
 
 When I arrived at the brook it was mid- 
 afternoon, and he began to call to me as soon 
 as I was in sight, saying, "The Tree is, as 
 you see, nearly asleep, but before he became 
 drowsy he asked me if I had nothing to show 
 you that might be of interest. Of course I 
 have! If you had come to me earlier in the 
 spring instead of to him, I could have shown 
 you many things of which he does not know, 
 because from my source away up on the 
 mountain top, down to where I join the river, 
 there are many happenings every day and all 
 the time. Birds' nests I can show you, of 
 divers, ducks, and of geese; of kingfishers in 
 the banks, and in a great dead pine tree far 
 up the mountain side is a nest of a pair of bald- 
 headed eagles. All are deserted now, but 
 there are other things than birds and their 
 nests and if you care to see them and will 
 follow my course for a mile or so upstream to 
 where I emerge from a little lake that lies be- 
 tween the hills, I will introduce to you some lit- 
 
FOLK OF THE WOODS 87 
 
 tie pets of my own, of whom I am very fond." 
 Naturally I was only too glad to go as far as 
 the brook might wish me to and set out at 
 once. The way was easy at first, and as I 
 followed the course of the little stream, I 
 talked to him of many things. Soon, how- 
 ever, the banks became steep and rocky, and 
 sometimes I was far above the water and again 
 I could find a foothold on the narrow pebbly 
 beach where it widened out for a few yards. 
 Once I passed through a miniature canon, at 
 the end of which was a tumbled mass of rocks 
 over which the water roared and foamed in 
 little rapids and cascades, ending in a deep 
 pool where I was almost sure that I saw a 
 speckled trout jump. At last I came to a 
 small pine forest where it was quite dark as 
 the trees grew so thickly, meeting overhead 
 and casting dark shadows through which the 
 slanting afternoon sun sent in bright rays 
 that lit up single patches here and there, which 
 served only to accentuate the semi-darkness. 
 
 The earth beneath these trees was covered 
 deep with fallen pine needles, soft and grateful 
 to the tread, their colour blending gently with 
 that of the trunks so that it was with difficulty 
 one could see the line of demarkation. While 
 standing here peering into the dim perspec- 
 
88 
 
 FOLK OF THE WOODS 
 
 tives which faded gradually into the dark 
 beyond and seemed to hold lurking possi- 
 bilities, a sharp chattering from overhead 
 caused me to look aloft, and there directly over 
 
 itmmmamem 
 " A saucy little red-squirrel scolding away like mad " 
 
 me was a saucy little red-squirrel scolding 
 away like mad. "Well," said I to him, 
 "what have I done to merit such a talking to ?" 
 "Oh, you've done nothing as yet, and that's 
 
FOLK OF THE WOODS 89 
 
 what's mostly the trouble," he chattered 
 back at me; "it is what you have not done." 
 The brook asked me to show you the way 
 when you came, and how was I to know when 
 you were coming? Here I've wasted a whole 
 hour waiting for you when I should have been 
 busy gathering the last of my store of nuts for 
 the winter, I have to look sharp this time 
 of year, you know, for if I do not those great 
 lazy fox-squirrels will get them all. " Here he 
 used language regarding fox-squirrels that 
 would have been regarded as a breach of the 
 peace in any court of the woods, ending up by 
 saying, "You just wait till I am through filling 
 my storehouse, though, and see if I do not 
 chase every lazy, fat, bushy-tailed beggar out 
 of the pine grove. " I knew he would, too, for 
 the quick little red is more than a match for 
 his bigger but slower cousin. When he had 
 worked off the edge of his tiny "mad" he 
 flew so quickly up one tree and across and 
 down another that I could hardly follow him 
 with my eyes. I laughed heartily at his antics 
 and turned to resume my walk when he 
 scampered after me shrieking, "No! not that 
 way; don't you see those larches? That 
 means swamp! and you, with your big, 
 clumsy feet would be over your head and ears 
 
90 FOLK OF THE WOODS 
 
 in a minute, and I would catch it from the 
 brook for not taking care of you. " He was so 
 much in earnest about it that I laughed again, 
 and came near sending him off in a pet. 
 Then I looked ahead in the direction I had 
 taken, and sure enough, the pines ended in 
 what appeared to be the beginning of a tama- 
 rack swamp. "Follow me!" shouted little 
 frisky-tail, and set out at a great pace toward 
 the left of the line I had started upon. I 
 turned in the direction he indicated, and it 
 was not long before we came to higher ground 
 where the beech trees grew, and between 
 their trunks I glimpsed the blue waters of a 
 little lake which I had never visited before. 
 A gentle slope led downward to a tiny beach 
 from which by pushing aside the branches 
 shading it, I could see the whole expanse of 
 water. A serene stillness pervaded the entire 
 scene, not a breath of air was stirring and the 
 sky which had just been turned to rosy red by 
 the descending sun was reflected in the glassy 
 surface as in a mirror, making the little sheet 
 of water look as might an iridescent sea-shell 
 lying buried in a bed of velvety green moss, for 
 the tamaracks had not yet lost their needles as 
 they do when the real cold comes. Lily-pads 
 floated placidly about the margin, and away 
 
FOLK OF THE WOODS 91 
 
 out toward the middle a small fish came to the 
 surface and seized some floating object, send- 
 ing little ripples in ever-widening circles to the 
 land. As I was watching the colour-play 
 upon the surface, a small but very black object 
 made its appearance in the water not far from 
 where I sat, and moved slowly in my direction. 
 Looking at it through my field glass I saw that 
 it was a muskrat. He was in no apparent 
 hurry and was swimming about so quietly that 
 he seemed to be really loafing in the water. 
 Once he turned on his side and stuck his hind 
 foot out of the water and held it in this 
 ridiculous position for some time, but whether 
 he was trying to warm it or cool it I could not 
 make out. In a short time he was joined by 
 another, and then by several smaller ones 
 which chased each other about and made 
 great circles and splashes, with once in a while 
 an angry squeak when one or the other got 
 bitten a little too hard in their play. Pres- 
 ently one of them caught sight of me and 
 squeaked, and as if by magic they disappeared. 
 "Now you've done it!" said an angry little 
 voice behind me, and there perched on a 
 branch over my head was the red-squirrel 
 whom I had for the moment forgotten in my 
 interest at watching the gambols of the 
 
92 FOLK OF THE WOODS 
 
 muskrat family. "Now," continued the 
 squirrel, "I suppose that I will have to go 
 clear around the lake and scratch on the roof 
 of their house to get them out again. I hoped 
 that you would have sense enough to keep 
 quiet until I had an opportunity to call them 
 to you." "I am very sorry," I said, "but 
 they were so funny that I could not help just 
 one little laugh, and I am afraid that they 
 heard me." "Well, don't do so again," said 
 he. "I will go and try to make them come 
 back, but you must be very quiet as they are 
 very shy, and if you have anything with you 
 that they can eat, you would better offer it to 
 them, as you will then stand a much better 
 chance of having them talk to you." As it 
 happened I did have two or three apples in 
 my pocket, that I had brought for my lunch 
 but had entirely forgotten. I started to ask 
 the squirrel if it would not be better for me 
 to go around to where the muskrat houses 
 were, but he was gone like a flash, and I con- 
 cluded that in all probability he had good 
 reasons for not taking me with him, as he 
 certainly would not have taken so much 
 trouble upon himself needlessly. I found 
 out afterward that the spot where the 
 muskrats lived was almost impossible of 
 
FOLK OF THE WOODS 93 
 
 approach, for me at any rate, except by boat, 
 and I was glad enough not to have attempted 
 going there that evening. It seemed no time 
 at all before the squirrel was back again, 
 coming like a little red and white flash along 
 the upper branches of the trees. He arrived 
 with a swish of dry leaves and a scurry half- 
 way up the trunk of the tree beneath which 
 I sat, when with a quick turn he fastened his 
 hind claws into its bark and hung head down- 
 ward as squirrels will, and using his forepaws 
 like little hands, he proceeded to shell and eat 
 a beechnut that he had picked up in transit, 
 saying between nibbles, "I told them that you 
 had travelled a long way to see them, and that 
 you had something for them of which they 
 were very fond. I hope to goodness that you 
 have, for otherwise they may be cross about 
 it and go away in a pet. Not that I care," 
 he added, "for they are a damp, smelly lot at 
 best, and haven't the least idea of manners. " 
 "Yes, " I replied, "I have something for them, 
 and, looking across the water, I could see them 
 coming, the whole family. In the lead was 
 the old one which I had seen at first, and, even 
 as he swam, I concluded that he was the 
 grandfather of all the muskrats that I had 
 ever seen. He must have weighed at least 
 
94 FOLK OF THE WOODS 
 
 four pounds, and was, I am sure, nearly two 
 feet long, tail and all. As they swam toward 
 me with their heads only showing above the 
 water, they looked, as the waning afternoon 
 light struck them, quite black, but when I got 
 a closer look, I found that it was only the old 
 fellow that was black, and that the rest of 
 them were of a grayish brown, darker on their 
 backs and lighter underneath, while their 
 little chins were almost white. They had 
 tremendous front teeth that gave them the 
 look of being able to bite very hard, as indeed 
 they could, and their tails were naked like a 
 rat's, but flatter. There were six of them, the 
 father and mother and four young ones that 
 were nearly grown. When they got within 
 ten or fifteen feet of where I sat, they all sank 
 out of sight and I fancied that they had be- 
 come frightened again at the last moment, and 
 gone home once more, but on looking down 
 into the water a short distance from where I 
 sat, I saw them a few inches beneath the sur- 
 face all looking up at me. They looked 9q odd 
 with their bright little beady eyes and black 
 noses all in a row that I came near to laughing 
 aloud at them. I suppressed my smiles this 
 time, however, and taking a big red apple 
 from my pocket, cut it in half and laid it on 
 
FOLK OF THE WOODS 95 
 
 the ground close to the water's edge. They 
 eyed it suspiciously for some time, and then 
 the big one came slowly up to it and, making 
 a quick grab, took it in his teeth and swam off 
 a few yards up the shore, where he landed and 
 began to eat. All of the rest of them followed 
 him as he went, and as soon as he would allow 
 them to do so, came close to him and smelled 
 of the apple as he ate. Evidently they were 
 favourably impressed, for without waiting for 
 him to lead them this time, they all swam back 
 again and lined up as before to see if there was 
 going to be "any core." I held pieces of the 
 apple in my hand this time, and after much 
 hesitation and several false starts, the mother 
 rat came and took a piece, snatching it quickly 
 from my fingers. After that there was no 
 more trouble and in a short while I had them 
 at my feet, sitting up and eating away like so 
 many tame squirrels, holding the bits of apple 
 in their front paws and nibbling away like 
 mad. When they had eaten all I had with 
 me and had smelt my fingers to make sure for 
 themselves that there was no more, they each 
 took a drink of water and sat down to wash 
 their faces just as a cat would do. The big 
 old grandfather muskrat had become very 
 friendly now and so I began to talk to him. 
 
96 FOLK OF THE WOODS 
 
 I wanted to know more about their houses, 
 but I was very careful not to mention this to 
 him at first, for I was afraid that he might 
 think that I was looking for muskrat skins, so 
 I said to him, "Are you fond of apples?" 
 He replied that he certainly was, but that he 
 got altogether too few of them. Then I 
 promised him that if he would tell me some- 
 thing of himself and his family, that I would 
 see to it that a good supply of nice red apples 
 would be left where he could get them. 
 "There is very little to tell," he replied; "we 
 are a very quiet and simple people and do not 
 bother any one. All that we ask is to be let 
 alone." "What do you eat when there are 
 no apples?" I asked. "Oh, mostly the tender 
 white ends of lily stems," he answered, "but 
 all of the water grasses are good, and we are 
 very fond of jewel-weed when it is in season. 
 Sometimes we find fresh clams, and once I 
 caught a young bird that had fallen into the 
 water and it tasted good for a change, but 
 really I much prefer a vegetable diet." "Do 
 you always live in the water?" I asked. 
 "Not at all," he replied; "we go ashore a 
 great deal, but rarely for long distances, as 
 we are great home bodies. When the family 
 becomes too large the younger members go 
 
FOLK OF THE WOODS 97 
 
 away to some other pond and build homes for 
 themselves, but we older ones stay in the same 
 places as long as we can. Of course we build 
 new houses from time to time as the old ones 
 become too leaky, but we do not move very far 
 away. Sometimes we build in the bank of the 
 lake, but when the weather becomes too cold 
 we pile up the sticks and rushes into heaps 
 that you men call our houses. These are 
 really only a small part of the house itself, and 
 there is no use of my trying to tell you the 
 plan of the real one for you could never under- 
 stand. Besides, we have trouble enough as it 
 is in trying to keep from the clutches of 
 thieves and murderers that find us out in 
 spite of all we can do, without telling every 
 one how to enter our homes." I tried to get 
 him to tell more, but not another word could 
 I get out of him. I knew pretty well what I 
 had asked him to tell me, however, as I had on 
 several occasions dug out the burrows of 
 members of his tribe and had found that the 
 main entrance to a muskrat's house was 
 usually under water and at some distance from 
 the house itself. Moreover, there are as a 
 rule two or more ways of getting in and out. 
 When the little home is built into the bank of 
 a lake or stream, the main entrance tunnel 
 
98 FOLK OF THE WOODS 
 
 begins in the deep water about six feet out 
 from the shore, and ends in a comfortable 
 little room above high-water mark where it is 
 always warm and dry. This they line with 
 grass, and here the young are born. The 
 great piles of dry marsh grass, that we call 
 their houses, stand well out in the water and 
 are built on small mud banks that come near to 
 the surface. From these they tunnel down 
 into deep water and build loose rafts of sticks 
 and rushes that keep the ice thin and easily 
 breakable so that they can have breathing 
 holes in the winter, and also a good safe place 
 to feed. By "thieves and murderers" he 
 meant the minks, I am sure, for they are very 
 fond of muskrat meat and chase the poor little 
 fellows right into their very homes, and there 
 kill whole families at a time. Wolves and 
 foxes too, when there are any about, catch 
 them whenever they can, and the big owls 
 quickly snap them up if they find them out 
 after dark, so that it is no wonder that they 
 are shy and suspicious. While the old 
 "Musquash," as the Indians used to call him, 
 was talking, the sun had been getting lower 
 and lower, and here among the trees it had 
 become quite dark. Suddenly, and without 
 warning, from the woods behind me there 
 
FOLK OF THE WOODS 
 
 99 
 
 came, very loud and clear, the cry of a great- 
 horned owl. "Whoo!" said he; "whoo- 
 hoo, whoo-hoo, whoo-hoo, whoo-hoo-waah!" 
 Scarcely had the great bird begun to hoot 
 
 " The cry of a great horned owl — 'Whoo !' " 
 
 when the entire muskrat family disappeared 
 so suddenly that all I saw of them was a few 
 ripples on the surface of the water, and the 
 little red-squirrel that had been an interested 
 
loo FOLK OF THE WOODS 
 
 listener from a branch overhead, gave one 
 lightning-like bound to a neighbouring tree, 
 and fairly flew into a hole in the trunk of it. 
 I arose to my feet at once and turned toward 
 the brook and home, for well I knew that none 
 of that little gathering would dare to venture 
 forth as long as the great fierce owl was any- 
 where in the vicinity. I did not blame them, 
 for I do not know anything in the woods more 
 fierce and cruel than the great-horned owls. 
 They will even attack a man if they think that 
 he is infringing on their rights, or comes too 
 near their nests. Before I had reached the 
 path that I usually took when homeward 
 bound, the moon had begun to shine above the 
 treetops making everything as bright as day 
 except the shadows which were unusually 
 dark and seemed full of mystery. The corn 
 was still standing In the open fields all gath- 
 ered Into shocks that looked like an Indian 
 encampment in the silvery light, and the 
 stubble of the grain had the appearance of 
 running water. As I passed I heard many 
 little squeaks and squeals beside me, as the 
 little field mice ran to and fro, gathering in the 
 last of their winter supplies, and once I sur- 
 prised a big 'coon as he sat on the ground 
 behind a corn-shock eating an ear he had 
 
FOLK OF THE WOODS loi 
 
 stolen. I watched him a moment before he 
 saw me and then he galloped awkwardly 
 away toward the woods, and a little screech 
 owl whimpered at me from a treetop. 
 
 Before I could again visit the muskrat lake, 
 the cold had come in earnest and the ice was 
 thick upon it. I walked across to where the 
 houses were and left a good supply of apples 
 and some carrots near their breathing holes, 
 where I was sure that they would find them 
 when no one was about. Long after that I 
 heard in a very roundabout way that they had 
 done so and were very grateful. A little 
 singing mouse that lived in the wall of my 
 chamber told me all about it one night when 
 he came out for his regular supper of crumbs 
 that I scattered for him on the hearth. He 
 said that a barn rat had told him, and that 
 he had it from a brown rabbit that had been 
 chased under the barn by a dog the day before. 
 
 The very night when the mouse was telling 
 me this the little boy had come to hear about 
 the muskrats, and for a long time he sat quietly 
 while the mouse sang, and said that it sounded 
 like a canary bird, hardly believing that it 
 could be true that a mouse could really sing. 
 When it had eaten all the crumbs and had gone 
 into its hole under the hearth there were more 
 
I02 FOLK OF THE WOODS 
 
 stories about jumping mice, and dancing 
 mice, and their cousins, the shrews, about 
 the moles, and even the great coypu rats 
 of which he had never heard before and 
 which were as big as small dogs, until the 
 moon came and made bright spots on the 
 hearthrug and the lights burned low, when in 
 spite of brave efforts to keep awake my 
 audience of one slept before the last story was 
 ended. 
 
THE RIVER OF TIME 
 
 "How the winters are drifting, like flakes of snow, 
 
 And the summers like buds between, 
 And the year in the sheaf, so they come and they go. 
 
 On the river's breast, with its ebb and flow. 
 As it glides through the shadow and sheen." 
 
 FOR many years the seasons, merging 
 imperceptibly one into the other, had 
 come and gone, and with each recurring 
 spring my friendship and respect for the Tree 
 had become more and more firmly cemented. 
 
 As the years sped on the birds came and 
 went, the flowers sprang up, bloomed, and 
 died, and the dying ones gave place to others as 
 fair or fairer than those which had preceded 
 them. 
 
 The brook was always the same, regular in 
 its irregularity, somewhat fickle and never 
 quite dependable, but the Tree stood fast. 
 Asleep or waking as he might be I knew that 
 he was unchangeable. 
 
 The little boy had become a big boy now, 
 and accompanied me on many of my woodland 
 trips, and he had long ago learned to know the 
 
 103 
 
I04 FOLK OF THE WOODS 
 
 Tree and to love and respect him although he 
 was never able to hear the voice which I knew 
 so well; that would come with other years and 
 other trees. Sometimes when I referred to 
 what the Tree had said to me, I could see him 
 smile quietly to himself behind the hand, but 
 I knew that this was the superior smile of 
 youth, and that some day, if he but followed 
 the trend in which he had been started, he 
 would break his own path to the wide road 
 that leads at last to the "Forest of Arden." 
 That day he would smile again, this time in 
 gladness that the existence of such a place 
 had been made clear to him. 
 
 This thought was in my mind one day 
 when the boy bade me farewell at the Tree 
 and had gone on some errand of his own, 
 leaving me to my memories and retrospection 
 beneath its shadow. Here it was now my 
 daily habit to come when the sun began to 
 turn toward the west, and to spend the late 
 afternoon and evening hours in silent sweet- 
 do-nothingness, or in listening to the long 
 rambling tales picked up from an hundred 
 wandering friends which were the constant 
 visitors of the Tree both summer and winter. 
 
 It had often appeared strange to me that 
 he seemed to know quite as much about his 
 
FOLK OF THE WOODS 105 
 
 winter guests as he did of those who came in 
 the summer when he was wide awake and at 
 his best. I had thought many times of asking 
 him to explain this but something had always 
 occurred to distract my attention as I was 
 about to put the question, and time had flown 
 by without my having done so. 
 
 On this day, after the boy had left me, I lay 
 watching the soft shadows of departing day 
 drift slowly across the evening sky, while 
 piled-up masses of fleecy clouds upon the 
 eastern horizon reflected the last rays of the 
 fast descending'sun as he sank below the tree- 
 tops. I made up my mind to ask the Tree 
 something of his own history, and perhaps 
 I could find out some of the things that had 
 puzzled me in times gone by. 
 
 From the tangled undergrowth of black- 
 berry brambles and dogwood that grew 
 around and about, the choir of sweet-voiced 
 thrushes began their orisons and songs of love. 
 " Ger-ald-i-n-e, " one would call from a corner 
 of the copse, to be answered from afar: 
 "Ger-ald-i-e-e-n, come to me — pretty girl;" 
 their soft, rich contraltos being brought into 
 pleasing contrast by the higher notes of a 
 vesper sparrow as he trilled interludes from 
 the top of a stag-horn sumach which spread 
 
io6 FOLK OF THE WOODS 
 
 its branches above his nest, close hidden in the 
 grass below; and by the whistle of a meadow- 
 lark which sounded faintly from the plowed 
 land beneath the hill. A light breeze stirred 
 
 " Ger-ald-i-e-e-n, come to me — pretty girl" 
 
 the leaves above me and brought with it the 
 fresh, moist odour of dew-laden foliage and 
 damp earth, and one by one the lamps of the 
 fireflies shone out against the darkening woods. 
 
FOLK OF THE WOODS 107 
 
 The great oak above me was droning 
 quietly to himself in the gathering dusk as if 
 in deep content, and for the hundredth time 
 I was made glad in the realization that he was 
 alive and that I was here to listen to the many- 
 tales that he now told me without restraint or 
 formality. I was leaning back in the soft 
 grass that grew at his foot, meditating over a 
 long rigmarole that he had been reciting of 
 what he called "The Ancient Days"; a time 
 so long ago that even he with his great age had 
 almost forgotten. 
 
 I had not well understood all that he had 
 said for he, himself, was a bit uncertain of 
 many points; and as the events of which he 
 spoke had taken place long before he was even 
 an acorn, this was not at all surprising. That 
 time, thought I, must have been long ago 
 indeed, for he is an old tree and perhaps he has 
 forgotten. I must ask of some one that knows 
 more than I if by any chance he has told me 
 that which is true, for it had occurred to me 
 that perhaps the old Tree had been making 
 up stories after the really true ones that he 
 had told me before had given out. While I 
 was thus dreaming and thinking, I had, as 
 one often does when alone and especially 
 when alone in the woods, the feeling that 
 
io8 FOLK OF THE WOODS 
 
 some one was looking at me, and involuntarily 
 I turned my head to see whom it might be. 
 
 It was nearly dark by this time and the little 
 brown bats were making zig-zags and circles 
 about my head in active search of night-fly- 
 ing insects . At first I could detect nothing, al- 
 though I searched carefully with my eyes deep 
 into the surrounding shadows, but in a few 
 moments a dim light began to glow at the 
 summit of a little mound a short distance 
 from where I sat, and I imagined that a wan- 
 dering will-o'-the-wisp had strayed over from 
 the swamp-land to pay me a visit. Soon, 
 however, I saw that this was no "Jack-o'- 
 Lantern" looking for mischief, for the light 
 gradually became smaller and brighter, and 
 in a short while began to take on the shape of 
 a tiny little woman. What wonder is this? 
 thought I, and rubbed my eyes hard to find 
 out if I was really awake and not dreaming. 
 Each moment the form became more and 
 more distinct, until presently I could make out 
 the features of the little lady and the gar- 
 ments that she wore. She seemed very 
 beautiful in the greenish light that played 
 about her, and her dark eyes sparkled in a 
 very merry way as she peeped out at me from 
 beneath the masses of dark brown hair which 
 
FOLK OF THE WOODS 109 
 
 grew low upon her brow. Straight eyebrows 
 she had, and a nose that one might call 
 "Grecian," while her lips were full and red 
 and had a saucy little pout which was ex- 
 tremely bewitching. She was clothed en- 
 tirely in green, and the tints of her dress were 
 those of the oak leaves, new and old, with here 
 and there a suggestion of the deep mahogany 
 colourings and rich reds that these same 
 leaves show in the autumn days. A little cap 
 of the shape and colour of an acorn cup was 
 perched jauntily at an angle upon her head, 
 and on her feet she wore sandals of a soft, 
 white material which looked as if it had been 
 made from the inner bark of the tree, and 
 which were held in place by strands of orange- 
 coloured dodder. At her breast she wore a 
 spray of the berries of the mistletoe fastened 
 by a brooch fashioned from a long, black, haw- 
 thorn spike, and in her hand she carried a 
 partly open fern frond which looked like a 
 crosier and which she seemed to use as a sort 
 of a fairy wand. 
 
 All this I could see by the elfish light which 
 surrounded her, and you may be sure that I 
 looked with all of my senses alert, for I was 
 certain that Titania herself had deigned to 
 honour me with a visit. I was afraid to move 
 
no FOLK OF THE WOODS 
 
 for fear of startling this woodsy sprite, as I 
 was not at all sure that she had seen me, and 
 I was prepared to have her evanish on the 
 instant. Contrary to my expectations, how- 
 ever, as soon as she had become distinctly 
 visible she stepped quickly toward where I sat. 
 
 I at once arose and doffed my cap, and 
 taking the tiny hand which she extended in 
 the most friendly fashion, accompanying the 
 gesture with a smile which went straight to my 
 heart, waited for her to speak. It was such 
 a very little hand that I found within mine 
 that I was fearful of crushing it, but it had a 
 warm, human touch, and I imagined that I 
 felt just the suggestion of a squeeze as her 
 low, sweet voice greeted me. 
 
 "So you do not know me? after all the 
 times that I have talked to you, too ! " There 
 was a trace of disappointment in her tones, 
 and I made haste to try to make amends. 
 "Really," I said, "I must apologize for r]f\y 
 poor memory and offer the usual poor excuse, 
 which, however, is the absolute truth this 
 time, and say that while your voice sounds 
 strangely familiar, and I feel that I ought to 
 know you, I am, I must confess, totally at a 
 loss as to your name. " 
 
 This was really a fact. Her voice was one 
 
FOLK OF THE WOODS iii 
 
 that I was sure that I had heard an hundred 
 times, but for the life of me I could not tell 
 where. My polite euphemism seemed to 
 amuse her greatly, and she threw back her 
 head with a peal of merry laughter of so con- 
 tagious a character that I was forced to join 
 in with her in spite of myself. 
 
 It was a wonderful laugh, in which I seemed 
 to hear the sound of raindrops pattering in a 
 silent woodland pool; the gentle rustle of 
 ripened leaves shaken by the summer wind; 
 the deeper notes of hidden thrushes singing 
 at the close of day, and under all a sad, wild 
 sweetness all its own that made me sigh even 
 as I echoed its apparent mirth. 
 
 I was sorry when she was once more silent, 
 and I tried to think of something which would 
 amuse her again that I might be able to listen 
 to that wonderful laughter once more before 
 she melted into thin air, as I was sure she 
 would unless I could manage in some way to 
 hold her attention for a moment. 
 
 After a short silence she began to speak 
 again and her voice had the sweetness of 
 distant music heard across silent waters when 
 the winds are hushed. Once more extending 
 her hand, she said, "Forgive my seeming 
 rudeness, please; that was the first time that 
 
112 FOLK OF THE WOODS 
 
 I have laughed in an hundred years and I 
 simply had to. As to my name — you may 
 call me Drus, if you like. It is not my real 
 name, but that I must not tell, and Drus is 
 short and easy to remember. It has been a 
 very long time since any mortal has seen me 
 or had the opportunity of calling me anything, 
 and had you not saved my life at least twice 
 I would not have taken the trouble of showing 
 myself to you even now, as you were getting 
 on very well as things were and seemed 
 quite content. 
 
 "Saved your life!" I exclaimed, "and how 
 did I do that, may I ask ?" Drus gave a little 
 stamp of impatience and her forehead 
 wrinkled a bit, but a smile quickly followed 
 and she replied, "Once from a nasty vine 
 that was crawling up the trunk of the Tree, 
 and once from the woodchoppers who wished 
 to cut him down. It Is possible that you may 
 have to do so a third time, and that is part of 
 the reason which brought me to you now." 
 More than ever was I mystified. Well did I 
 remember cutting down the vine, and I had 
 a lively recollection of a heated argument 
 with some pirate lumbermen who had thought 
 to turn my old friend into oaken planks, and 
 of how I finally bought them off at a price 
 
FOLK OF THE WOODS 113 
 
 ridiculously small, had they but known what 
 I would have paid to save my Tree; but how 
 did this fairy sprite come to even know of 
 these things ? Yet she applied them to herself 
 and not to the Tree. 
 
 My face must have expressed my thoughts, 
 for once more Drus gave way to a peal of her 
 silvery laughter. "Do you not realize," she 
 said, when she had regained her composure, 
 "that it has been I to whom you have talked 
 all these years, and not that stupid thing of 
 leaves and branches that you call the Tree? 
 How do you suppose a tree could talk? Did 
 any but an oak tree ever say anything to you 
 in all your life?" 
 
 Gradually the idea began to dawn on me, 
 and the more that I thought of it the more 
 wonderful did it seem. I had become used 
 to having the Tree talk to me and had ceased 
 to wonder at it, but now that I knew the real 
 secret of it I was filled with awe and, I must 
 say, with some surprise that I had not thought 
 of it before. 
 
 "You are one of the Dryads!" I exclaimed. 
 "Indeed, I am honoured, and most sincerely 
 do I appreciate that honour. Never since 
 the days of the great god Pan has man been 
 so favoured. " 
 
114 FOLK OF THE WOODS 
 
 Immediately I wanted to ask her all about 
 everything that had transpired during her long 
 life, for if she was really one of the ancient 
 Dryads she must be old beyond imagining, 
 and have countless recollections which would 
 be of greatest interest, and to listen to the 
 telling thereof, a treat of the rarest. 
 
 It is, however, somewhat of a risky business 
 to even hint that any woman is "old, " and as 
 I wished to keep in the good graces of little 
 Miss DruSjI did not question her too closely at 
 once, although there were a thousand queries 
 that arose in my mind. I wished to know how 
 on earth she had ever managed to arrive at 
 this place so distant from her native grove in 
 the far-off land of Greece where she must have 
 been brought into existence; how she had 
 spent all the long years since that time before 
 she had come to my Tree, for although he was 
 old, surely the Tree was not as old as Drus 
 must be. These and many other thoughts 
 were running through my mind when I noticed 
 that the bright eyes of my little visitor were 
 watching me very closely, and fearing that 
 perhaps she might be a mind reader I hastened 
 to say, "Pardon my absent-mindedness, but 
 really you so surprised me that I hardly know 
 what to think or say. " 
 
FOLK OF THE WOODS 115 
 
 Smiling at my simple ruse, Drus replied, 
 "Oh, I know what you would ask and I do 
 not mind in the least telling you some of my 
 life, but it is rather of a sad errand which 
 brings me here this time, and I must impart 
 that to you as soon as possible or it may be too 
 late. There is, however, a little time, and if 
 you will promise not to ask any questions and 
 be patient I will tell you all that it is well for 
 you to know now. " 
 
 We had been standing all this time, and 
 suddenly it occurred to me that the polite 
 thing to do would be to ask the little lady to be 
 seated, but being out in the woods there was 
 of course nothing of a civilized nature for 
 either of us to sit upon. While I was deliberat- 
 ing as to what to do, Drus solved the problem 
 for me in a most unexpected fashion. 
 
 "Pray be seated," said she, and with the 
 words she waved her fern frond somewhat 
 impatiently toward a nearby clump of bushes. 
 I looked in the direction indicated, thinking 
 that she meant me to go there, but out of the 
 undergrowth there waddled the fattest, 
 slowest moving woodchuck that I had ever 
 seen. He looked cross and came very slowly 
 toward us, grunting as he came, but when 
 Drus spoke to him he hastened as fast as he 
 
n6 
 
 FOLK OF THE WOODS 
 
 could to a place in the grass near where I had 
 been lying before she had appeared. She 
 gave him a smart little tap with her wand as 
 he passed, saying, "Lazy! It has been 
 
 " The slowest moving woodchuck that I had ever seen " 
 
 many a long day since I made you come out 
 last, and now you must be good and be 
 patient, else I will punish you. " 
 
 The woodchuck stopped his grunting and 
 
FOLK OF THE WOODS 117 
 
 made as If to hurry, but he was so fat that it 
 was hard work, and going to the place where 
 Drus pointed, sprawled himself out flat on the 
 ground. Without a word she immediately- 
 seated herself on his broad, fat back, and 
 motioning me to take a place beside her, com- 
 posed herself as if for a long chat. 
 
 As I dropped down to a comfortable place 
 in the cool, soft grass, I noticed that old, fat 
 "chucky" was already fast asleep, so I 
 judged that the weight he was supporting 
 was not much of a burden. 
 
 " Now that we are in a measure comfortable, 
 we can talk in peace for a few moments," 
 Drus began. Her voice was strangely like 
 the deeper notes of a thrush, and I did not 
 dare to reply at once for fear of interrupting 
 its sweetness and perhaps changing the 
 current of her thoughts. In fact, I did not 
 care to say anything myself, nor much what 
 she might say, as long as she would only keep 
 on speaking, for her voice was music itself. 
 For some moments we both kept silence, I, 
 watching the play of expression on the 
 face of the gypsy-like little being, and Drus 
 apparently deep in thought, letting her 
 memory wander back over days that must be, 
 I knew, so far away that I would be obliged 
 
ii8 FOLK OF THE WOODS 
 
 to stretch my imagination to even think o£ 
 them. 
 
 After a while she looked toward me with a 
 serious expression of countenance and absent- 
 mindedly plucking at the furry back of her 
 living couch said, "Did you ever hear of 
 Erisichthon?" "Yes," I replied, "but he 
 was supposed to have lived very long ago, so 
 long, in fact, that I was not at all sure that he 
 had ever existed. All that I know of him I 
 have learned from books that, too, are of the 
 very oldest. " 
 
 "Well, he did live," she answered, "and 
 though you may not believe it, he was, never- 
 theless, responsible for my being here. If you 
 have heard of him you have no doubt heard of 
 his fate, and richly did he deserve that fate, 
 horrible though it was. " 
 
 Drus was now sitting with her hands folded 
 loosely together and lying gently in her lap, 
 while her eyes sought mine with an earnest- 
 ness of expression that commanded attention. 
 
 "You will remember, " she continued, " that 
 after he had cruelly cut down the very finest 
 tree of all our grove, and thereby killed the 
 fairest of our sisters who perished shrieking, 
 that our good mother Ceres sent one of our 
 cousins, the Oreads, to fetch Famine from the 
 
FOLK OF THE WOODS 119 
 
 cold lands to torment him. You remember 
 how Famine, obeying the request of Ceres, 
 entered into the very being of the miserable 
 wretch and caused him to hunger even while 
 he ate, and how he ate all that he had in the 
 house and then sold all his possessions for 
 more; yes, even bartering his only daughter 
 for food, and how this fair young girl begged 
 of the great god Neptune to rescue her from 
 her fate, and how he did so, changing her form 
 so that her purchaser would not know her. 
 And at the end, how this monster Erisichthon, 
 failing of all food, died eating of his own 
 flesh. 
 
 "All these things took place in the days of 
 long ago, and I was one of the Dryads and 
 lived in the tree next to the one which Erisich- 
 thon cut down. From that time on the men 
 and the women who had worshipped in our 
 grove deserted it, and it became wasted and 
 worn, and was rapidly falling into decay for 
 lack of attention and care. One by one the 
 Dryads crept out of their trees and begged of 
 Ceres that they might go elsewhere. I was 
 one of the last to leave, for I dreaded new 
 things, but at last I made up my mind that 
 I could no longer live alone, so bidding my 
 friends farewell, I sought out the great god, 
 
120 FOLK OF THE WOODS 
 
 Neptune. Of him I asked that I might be 
 transported somewhere, where, I did not care, 
 that I might forget what had taken place. 
 He granted my wish, and, as it was in his 
 power to do, changed me into a wreath of oak 
 leaves which adorned the brow of a man who 
 was captain of many ships sailing forth con- 
 quering new worlds. Many weary days we 
 sailed, I cast aside on the ever shifting deck, 
 until at last we neared the land, when he once 
 more took up the wreath of which I was a part, 
 and placing it upon his head, was carried 
 ashore on the back of one of his men. He 
 was met on the sands by many men in strange 
 garb, and whose principle covering was fash- 
 ioned of the skins of wild animals, and who 
 wore their hair in long, matted tresses. With 
 these there was battle and my man was among 
 those who arose no more from that conflict. 
 
 "I gave myself up for lost, but had forgotten 
 that the power of Neptune extended to the 
 farthest seas. In his wisdom he had seen fit 
 to leave an acorn attached to the wreath in 
 which my warrior died, and as he fell to the 
 ground it broke off and was buried beside 
 him in the mould. Following this there came 
 a space of years of which I remember nothing. 
 Then upon a day I awakened to find that an 
 
FOLK OF THE WOODS 121 
 
 oak of the old stem, sprang from the acorn 
 buried so long ago, had arisen in his might, 
 and I was furnished with a home wherein I 
 could live in safety and contentment. For a 
 long time none came near to where my tree 
 stood, save an occasional wanderer; but then 
 came many, coming up from the sea in boats. 
 They looked strange to me, these people, and 
 they were a savage crew, but they seemed to 
 show a reverence for the oak and this made me 
 think more of them, and I began to hope that 
 the good old days were to come once more. 
 I soon discovered, however, much to my dis- 
 gust and horror, that their worship was of a 
 different character than that to which I had 
 been accustomed. They were a cruel people 
 who made human sacrifices, offering up the 
 blood of their women and of the little children 
 whom they killed beneath the tree, while 
 calling on their gods, whomever they might 
 be and of whom I knew nothing. After a 
 while there came small clusters of mistletoe 
 to live on the branches of the tree, and these 
 especially did their white-robed priests hold 
 sacred. 
 
 "Once a year, at a certain time, there would 
 arrive a company of them drawn by milk- 
 white oxen and with a train of followers. 
 
122 FOLK OF THE WOODS 
 
 Then a snowy sheet would be spread beneath 
 the tree, and the chief of all the priests, in his 
 white robe and carrying a golden sickle in his 
 hand, would ascend the tree, and cutting a 
 cluster of the mistletoe from where it grew 
 high up in the branches allow it to fall to the 
 sheet below, when all would raise their voices 
 in a weird chant in praise of the oak and of its 
 mysterious burden, the mistletoe. Then they 
 would build stone altars and do bloody deeds 
 the like of which I do not even wish to think 
 about. 
 
 "Many, many years passed, and the tree, 
 which had grown from the acorn which had 
 been attached to the wreath of which I was a 
 part and which had come so far across the 
 seas, waxed old and was about to die. Once 
 more I was in fear of being cast into outer 
 darkness, but long ere this could become 
 imminent, the wild, cruel people had gone I 
 know not where, and a more kindly and a 
 wiser set of men had come to take their place. 
 
 "These had learned to love the trees fortheir 
 own sake, their beauty, and their usefulness, 
 and not for any mysterious reason; and so 
 when my tree was seen to be old and long 
 before it was time for him to fall, one said, 
 'This is one of our noblest trees and it is not 
 
FOLK OF THE WOODS 123 
 
 meet that it should die and nothing come 
 therefrom. Let us, therefore, take of its seed 
 and plant it that we may have always noble 
 trees m our land.' And so it was done; and 
 from tree to tree was the acorn taken, and 
 from tree to tree has my spirit sped even to 
 this day. 
 
 "Now you know that there is a very old 
 saying that all Dryads die when the tree which 
 they inhabit dies. This is not so, always. 
 As a rule they are only made to sleep for 
 diflFerent lengths of time. Sometimes this 
 period is very long indeed, and the men who 
 may have known them when their tree died 
 are themselves all dead when the Dryad again 
 awakes. All depends on what happens to 
 their tree as to how long they must sleep, and 
 only do they die when their tree is felled by 
 the hand of man or sent crashing to the earth 
 by one of those terrible lightning bolts that 
 come on hot summer nights." 
 
 I had been so interested in the story of 
 little Miss Drus that I had not notice'd that 
 while she was talking the whole sky had be- 
 come overcast, and that heavy masses of dark 
 clouds now shut out the stars which had been 
 shining when she began. 
 
 A low grumble of distant thunder reached 
 
124 FOLK OF THE WOODS 
 
 my ears, and the busy crickets that had been 
 chirping all about were silent. Fierce little 
 gusts of wind rustled the leaves of the tree- 
 tops, and then died away leaving the ensuing 
 silence apparently deeper than before. I 
 turned to look at Drus and found that she had 
 risen and was standing with her tiny hands 
 pressed closely to her throat, and with an ex- 
 pression of great anxiety on her face. 
 
 "Do not be frightened," I said; "it is but 
 a passing summer storm, and in all probability 
 will not come near the Tree. " 
 
 Drus shook her head as if in grave doubt, 
 and without replying started toward the Tree, 
 but after taking a step or two she turned, and, 
 coming back to where I stood, took me by the 
 hand, saying, "Come! my time may even 
 now be at hand and there is not a moment to be 
 lost. I wish to show you something before 
 it is too late. " 
 
 I tried again to reassure her that nothing 
 would happen, but my words fell on unatten- 
 tive ears, and hurrying me to a spot near the 
 foot of the Tree she pointed to the ground 
 and said, "Listen!" 
 
 The little gusts of wind that had been 
 playing among the leaves were stilled, and for 
 a few moments not a sound could be heard 
 
FOLK OF THE WOODS 125 
 
 save the rushing of the brook over the pebbles 
 in its bed. Suddenly it occurred to me that 
 this most familiar sound was not quite 
 natural, and I paid closer attention to it. 
 Certainly there was a greater volume of water 
 than was usual at this time of year, and 
 besides, there seemed to be a peculiar "snarl" 
 to its friendly summer song. 
 
 Drus still pointed toward the earth, and 
 I placed my ear near the spot she indicated, 
 when much to my astonishment I made out 
 the roaring of angry waters deep under 
 ground. 
 
 Without waiting for me to express the sur- 
 prise that my face must have shown, Drus 
 gravely nodded and remarked, "Yes! there is 
 trouble enough without either lightning, wind, 
 or man. A mink from the forests on the hills 
 brought me word last night that one of the 
 little lakes far up near the summit was losing 
 its waters rapidly, and that a new under- 
 ground channel had formed which would pass 
 directly beneath my Tree. Now you under- 
 stand why I came to you, for this can mean 
 but one thing — the death of the Tree, and 
 for me another change of some sort, what, 
 I know not. You have saved the Tree before, 
 and I thought that perhaps you might do 
 
126 FOLK OF THE WOODS 
 
 something this time, but I am sorely afraid 
 that it is too late. " 
 
 That what Drus said was only too true, I 
 could see plainly enough for myself. I 
 followed the sound of waters from the Tree to 
 the brook, and by plunging my arm to the 
 shoulder into its depths at a certain point, I 
 could feel the side-suction where they were 
 escaping into the new channel so rapidly that 
 the course of the brook itself was being 
 changed, and in the space of a few hours 
 everything would be swept before them unless 
 they could be checked. 
 
 "What is to be done?" I put the question 
 silently into silence, and the answer was 
 "silence." 
 
 While I was helplessly pondering, the sky 
 became darker and darker; the thunder rolled 
 and boomed ominously, and a few big rain- 
 drops pattered on the broad surface of the 
 leaves. I turned to speak to Drus, but she 
 had left the place where she had been standing, 
 and the woodchuck had disappeared. I saw 
 in a few seconds the faintly visible form of the 
 Dryad pausing close to the Tree, waving her 
 hand toward me. I started to run to her to 
 say what I feared myself by this time might 
 be our last good-bye, when there came a 
 
FOLK OF THE WOODS 127 
 
 blinding flash from the clouds, and a ball of 
 fire seemed to strike the ground directly at 
 my feet, and I was thrown what seemed to be 
 miles through the air, and lost consciousness. 
 When my senses returned I sat up and won- 
 dered where I was and what had happened, 
 fancying that the whole thing had been a 
 dream. 
 
 On feeling of my clothes, however, I found 
 that I was wet to the skin, my head ached and 
 a strange feeling of weakness prevented my 
 arising at once. How long I lay there I do 
 not know, but when I finally was able to pull 
 myself together the stars were shining and the 
 late moon had arisen giving me sufficient light 
 to find my way about. 
 
 I immediately went to look for the Tree, 
 but on reaching the spot where my venerable 
 friend had stoord for so many years I found a 
 miniature canon at the bottom of which ran 
 the brook. I was too dazed to look farther 
 and so made my way home as best I might 
 through the wet woods. Even the next day 
 when the eflfects of my experience had quite 
 gone, I could not dispossess myself of the idea 
 that I had been dreaming, and that my old 
 friend would have his usual welcome awaiting 
 me. There was but one way to find out. and 
 
128 FOLK OF THE WOODS 
 
 so I set out at my usual time to visit him and 
 learn the truth. 
 
 On arriving at the little clearing where I had 
 spent so many happy days, I soon saw that it 
 had been no dream but only too real a tragedy. 
 Drus's words were true. Roaring waters from 
 somewhere had torn their way beneath the 
 Tree and carried him away bodily. The 
 course of the brook was changed, and now a 
 little waterfall foamed and tinkled where he 
 had stood. I followed the path of the freshet 
 or cloudburst, whatever it had been, and at 
 the next turn of the course it had taken I came 
 upon the poor old Tree lying on his side with 
 branches torn and leaves bedraggled and 
 dying. 
 
 There was no use of trying to talk to him, 
 now, and I wondered what had become of 
 Drus. I remembered that she had said that 
 she would not die unless the Tree was killed 
 by lightning or the hand of man, and neither 
 of these had been his undoing, but he had been 
 felled by a rush of angry waters. I climbed 
 all over his prostrate trunk looking for the 
 searing gash that lightning leaves, but found 
 nothing. For a long time I sat on one of his 
 great branches wondering what to do, and if 
 I should ever know of the fate of the little 
 
FOLK OF THE WOODS 129 
 
 Dryad. I was just about to depart when my 
 hand came in contact with something attached 
 to the bark near where I sat, and on looking 
 down what was my astonishment and delight 
 to find a tiny bunch of mistletoe berries pinned 
 there with a long, black hawthorn spike. 
 This could be nothing but a message 
 from Drus, for she had worn it on her breast, 
 and I knew that she was still alive and that 
 perhaps I would see her again some day. 
 
 As for the Tree, he was entirely uninjured 
 save that he had been uprooted, which for an 
 oak means the end of life, and after thinking 
 the matter over for a long time I made up my 
 mind to put sentiment aside and have his 
 great trunk cut up into lumber. 
 
 This was done long ago, and now I am look- 
 ing forward to the day when an entire room in 
 my house will be given up to all that is left of 
 my dear old friend, and — who can tell? — 
 maybe the planks themselves will prove a 
 strong enough attraction to draw another 
 message, or, best of all, a visit, from little 
 Miss Drus. 
 
 THE END 
 
IHB COtTKTKT LirB PBXflS 
 GABDEN CITT, N. T.