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dewberries. About the vines you may meet 

 Robin Redbreast, that noisy coxcomb, the 

 red-headed woodpecker, sober thrush, gor- 

 geous oriole, the big, black log-cock, blue- 

 bird, wren, and jay. 



Master Mocking-bird, too a fellow of 

 infinite jest. Sometimes it is his humor to 

 go, slow of wing, to a laden, crowded vine, 

 uttering, as he flies, the cry of the cruel 

 blue-winged hawk. It may be only a grew- 

 some jest. Most likely, though, it is done 

 with intent to frighten away bigger birds, 

 who might dispute with this winged humor- 

 ist the bes;t place at Nature's feast. 



A little while, and the raspberries hang 

 blacker, sweeter, more full of fine savor, in 

 all the shady thickets. To that feast come 

 garter and chicken snakes as well as red- 

 breast and red-head. The harmless ser- 

 pents acoil about the vines evoke no protest 

 from those peaceful birds. Yet those feath- 

 ered termagants, the cat-bird and the mocker, 

 set up a wondrous hue and cry if once they 

 spy a reptile. 



Blackberry time brings the old field other 

 visitors than those that creep and fly. Pigs 

 wriggle through rotting fences to feast on 

 fallen fruit, coons and possums steal in by 

 the glimpses of the moon. Day by day 



