68 MY WOODLAND. 



asked sharply : " Are you the fellow that's been 

 cloin' this shootin' in these woods ? " Fancy him 

 calling an ornithologist a " fellow ! " 



I suppose I blushed, not only " to the roots of my 

 hair," as they saj^ in novels, but also to the top of 

 my scalp. Of course 1 made my negative assur- 

 ance quite positive. " No, sir," I said, " I never 

 use a gun ; never ! " I felt, how^ever, that an 

 explanation of my presence was due him, and so I 

 continued, blushing still more vividly : "I — I am 

 in the habit of studying the birds and writing them 

 up for the papers ; but I never shoot anything." 

 He looked suspiciously at the opera glass in jny 

 hand, and then at the book-bag dangling at my 

 side ; but at last his inspection seemed to satisfy 

 him that I had told the truth. After expressing, 

 in somewhat caustic terms, his opinion of the man 

 who w^as shooting his squirrels, he left me to study 

 my birds in peace. Thus it will be seen that even 

 a harmless ornithologist might have an adventure 

 that would not be quite to his taste — he might be 

 ordered out of his own woodland. 



