188 THE JONATHAN PAPERS 



seems a little chilly to begin with. Wait 

 till I ve seen a bird. Then I shan t mind so.&quot; 



&quot;Then you do admit it s a cool morning?&quot; 



&quot;To paddle in a swamp, yes. The birds 

 don t have to paddle.&quot; 



We try the birches, and the pretty things 

 whip our faces with their slender twigs in their 

 own inimitable fashion, peculiarly trying to 

 my temper. I can never go through birches 

 long without growing captious. 



&quot;Jonathan,&quot; I call, as I catch a glimpse of 

 his hunting-coat through an opening, &quot;I 

 thought the birds were in the birches this 

 morning. They don t seem really abundant.&quot; 



Jonathan, unruffled, suggests that I go 

 along on the edge of the woods while he beats 

 out the middle with the dog, which magnan 

 imous offer shames me into silent if not 

 cheerful acquiescence. Suddenly whr-r-r 

 something bursts away in the brush ahead of 

 us. &quot;Mark!&quot; we both call, and, &quot;Did you 

 get his line?&quot; My critical spirit is stilled, and 

 I am suddenly fired with the instinct to fol 

 low, follow! It is indeed a primitive instinct, 

 this of the chase. No matter how tired one is, 

 the impulse of pursuit is there. At the close of 



