A PLACID RUNAWAY 9 



love the wood thrush best of all; but that he 

 should choose this moment! It was the final 

 touch. 



I whistled the blue-jay note, which means 

 &quot;Come,&quot; and Jonathan came threshing 

 through the brush, having left his rod. 



&quot;Where are you?&quot; he called; &quot; I can t see 

 you.&quot; 



&quot;No, you can t,&quot; I responded unami- 

 ably. &quot;You probably never will see me 

 again, at least not in any recognizable form. 

 Help me out!&quot; The thrush sang again, one 

 tree farther away. &quot;No! First kill that 

 thrush!&quot; I added between set teeth, as a 

 slight motion of mine set the brambles raking 

 again. 



&quot; Why, why, my dear, what s this? &quot; Then, 

 as he caught sight of me, &quot; Well ! You are tied 

 up! Wait; I 11 get out my knife.&quot; 



He cut here and there, and one after an 

 other, with a farewell stab or scratch, the 

 maddening things reluctantly let go their 

 hold. Meanwhile Jonathan made placid 

 remarks about the proper way to go through 

 brush. &quot;You go too fast, you know. You 

 can t hurry these things, and you can t bully 



