WATCHING THE DAY DIE 229 



dressing, also all the small bones; then he pol- 

 ished the larger bones, and while the dishes were 

 being washed, he carried off all the scraps which 

 refused to be accommodated in his pudgy little 

 belly. Then he disappeared without even a sem- 

 blance of "Thank you!" so thus deserted, I 

 picked up the paddle and slipped out of the 

 elms and down to the shore to watch the day die 

 — to see the last act of " A September Day " — 

 a play staged on the plainland, out where the 

 small hand of man takes no part in the perform- 

 ance. 



The woods along the shore were almost silent, 

 for the few campers of the summer had left the 

 place, and now the shady retreats in the yellow 

 maples and red-brown oaks were given over to 

 the broadwing, and the nuthatches, white-throat 

 sparrows, and jays — quiet fellows all, save the 

 jays. They were picking the acorns now falling 

 so abundantly each day, and their strident voices 

 often echoed in the evening stillness. As the 

 canoe slipped down the quiet shore, caressing 

 the lazy little ripples stealing in from the west- 

 ward, it was easy to imagine the modern craft a 

 birch-bark, and the evening reverted some fifty 

 years to a day before the prairie lake had mir- 



