XXIII 



L THE BELTED KINGFISHER 



IT was my first trip to the lakes and woods of Michigan, 

 and everything seemed strange and new. I was well 

 acquainted with the birds, plants, and fishes of our own 

 woods in southeastern Iowa, but here things were dif- 

 ferent. I never before had seen anything nearer the size 

 of a lake than the ponds along Skunk Eiver, which owe 

 their existence to the overflowing of the river from time to 

 time. At the first opportunity I wandered into the woods 

 by myself merely to see what I could find. I had heard 

 many stories of the wild animals that still roamed in these 

 woods, and had been told that bears, wild cats, and Canada 

 lynx were frequently caught. I had spent days and weeks in 

 the woods, and knew that the wildlings, when not pressed 

 by extreme hunger, are harmless; so it was the farthest 

 thing from my thoughts to be afraid, but I was on the 

 alert for new things. Even the trees were different from 

 those at home, not only because they were of different 

 kinds, but because of the different soil and climate; even 

 the varieties with which I had been familiar all my life 

 looked different. 



Pushing through the underbrush in search of a flower 

 I had seen at a distance I stumbled unexpectedly on a 

 beautiful little brook, and almost at the same instant was 



157 



