86 IN TUE WOOD LOT 



turned from me, and dashed madly into a spruce- 

 tree, nearly upsetting themselves, and threaten- 

 ing to run away. We were all afraid of each 

 other. 



The mortified driver apologized for their be- 

 havior on the ground that "they ain't much 

 used to seeing a lady up in the wood lot." I 

 generously forgave them, and then meekly fol- 

 lowed in their footsteps, up, up, up toward the 

 clouds, till we reached the blue jay neighborhood. 

 Here we parted. My escort passed on still 

 higher, and I seated myself to see at last my 

 blue jays. 



Dead silence around me. Not a leaf stirred; 

 not a bird peeped. I began to make a noise 

 myself — calls and imitations (feeble) of bird- 

 notes to arouse their curiosity; a blue jay is a 

 born investigator. No sign of heaven's color 

 appeared except in the patches of sky between 

 the leaves. 



Other wood dwellers came; a rose-breasted 

 grosbeak, with lovely rosy shield, with much 

 posturing and many sharp "clicks," essayed to 

 find out what manner of irreverent intruder this 

 might be. Later his modest gray-clad spouse 

 joined him. They circled around to view the 

 wonder on all sides. They exchanged dubious- 

 sounding opinions. Tliey were as little "used 

 to seeing a lady " as the oxen. They slipped 



