262 BIRDS OF FIELD, FOREST AND PARK 



storm, to the deftly cast fly. So to the fisher- 

 man's mind, at least, its naming for the emblem 

 of good luck is both wise and apt. 



Partly to fill a creel with trout, partly to ex- 

 tend my acquaintance among the wild folk of 

 the region, I set out early one morning with rod, 

 field glass and camera, bound for this "paradise 

 of the woods. " The trail starts from the far side 

 of First Pond, and, as I embark to paddle 

 across, from all sides the White-throats greet 

 me with their morning melody, a message of 

 peace and good cheer. As I enter the dense 

 forest a red squirrel noisily salutes me, halts 

 for an instant in his lively scramble up a spruce 

 trunk, eyeing me furtively; then, scurrying to a 

 limb, settles down comfortably to await devel- 

 opments. His summer coat is several shades 

 darker than his winter garb, but he is the same 

 restless, rollicking alarmist, no matter what the 

 season. 



From the narrow belt of black growth which 

 borders the pond, the trail gradually ascends 

 and the character of the forest changes com- 

 pletely. Fir, spruce and cedar give way to 

 beech, maple, white and yellow birch, with a 

 sprinkling of ash and poplar here and there. 

 This is the primeval forest and never has the 

 white man's axe awakened its echoes except as 

 trapper or surveyor has blazed his trail or built 

 his campfire. The ground is thickly clad with a 

 low growth of moose- wood and hobble-bush, 

 and many flowering plants deck the borders of 

 the path. Overhead the lofty roof of green is so 

 dense from the intermingling of the thickly- 



