MY WOODLAND. 67 



the warblers congenial company, for lie remained 

 with them wherever they went. All these birds 

 had donned their autumn toilets, some of them so 

 different from the apparel they wear on their spring 

 migrations. The student must learn the markings 

 of the birds for both seasons, as well as the plu- 

 mage of the young. 



On the same day I had a bit of experience which 

 might have been an adventure — but it wasn't. 

 Earlier in the day I had heard some one shooting 

 in the woods, and was surprised at the boldness of 

 the hunter, for in many places boards had been 

 put up bearing the announcement : " No shoot- 

 ing allowed on these premises." The rule, I had 

 understood, was rigidly enforced. Once I caught 

 sight of the trespasser carrying a gun on his shoul- 

 der, and hurried away, determined to put as great 

 a lineal distance between him and myself as pos- 

 sible, lest I should be mistaken for a law-breaker. 



The hours sped, and I was ogling my flock of 

 warblers, when I caught sight of a man approaching 

 me along the meandering path. I felt intuitively 

 that he was the owner of the woodland (the legal 

 owner, I mean) on the lookout for trespassers. I 

 greeted him with as much urbanity as I could com- 

 mand. He scarcely returned my salutation, but 



