240 THE MOUNTAINS OF CALIFORNIA 



he turned his head quickly from side to side, but 

 made no other response. Other squirrels, hearing 

 the strange sounds, came around on all sides, also 

 chipmunks and birds. One of the birds, a hand 

 some, speckle-breasted thrush, seemed even more 

 interested than the squirrels. After listening for 

 awhile on one of the lower dead sprays of a pine, 

 he came swooping forward within a few feet of my 

 face, and remained fluttering in the air for half a 

 minute or so, sustaining himself with whirring 

 wing-beats, like a humming-bird in front of a flower, 

 while I could look into his eyes and see his inno 

 cent wonder. 



By this time my performance must have lasted 

 nearly half an hour. I sang or whistled "Bonnie 

 Doon," " Lass o' Gowrie," " O'er the Water to Char 

 lie," u Bonnie Woods o' Cragie Lee," etc., all of 

 which seemed to be listened to with bright interest, 

 my first Douglas sitting patiently through it all, 

 with his telling eyes fixed upon me until I ven 

 tured to give the "Old Hundredth," when he 

 screamed his Indian name, Pillillooeet, turned tail, 

 and darted with ludicrous haste up the tree out of 

 sight, his voice and actions in the case leaving a 

 somewhat profane impression, as if he had said, 

 " I '11 be hanged if you get me to hear anything 

 so solemn and unpiny." This acted as a signal 

 for the general dispersal of the whole hairy 

 tribe, though the birds seemed willing to wait 

 further developments, music being naturally more 

 in their line. 



What there can be in that grand old church-tune 

 that is so offensive to birds and squirrels I can't 



