A Time for Everything 



price. That's what most of us are 

 doing. 



Last week we had been invited to 

 attend a big reception in the city. 

 Some of our human neighbors drove 

 in. They had been busy all day; 

 quite as busy, I should say, as the 

 birds and bees and big and little bugs 

 that live alongside, but that was not 

 enough. All our other friends, save 

 a screech owl that lives across the 

 way, had gone early to bed, as usual. 

 The sky was overcast. The moon had 

 passed the full. The cloud-screen 

 lianging between the silent fields and 

 woods and Vega, with her million 

 gleaming followers, obscured even the 

 bright overhead lights of our rural 

 Broadway. 



I had seen not long since the real 

 Gotham artery; not so busy as in the 

 old effervescing midnight hours, but 

 still an apparently happy hunting- 

 ground for predatory bipeds, with a 

 taste for poultry. Of course, like all 



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