88 THE CLERK OF THE WOODS 



ington. Happy passengers, say I. Would 

 that I were one of them ! The season is end- 

 ing in glory at the summit, for this is almost 

 or quite its last day, and there cannot have 

 been many to match it, the whole summer 

 through. 



I loiter about the fields for an hour or 

 more, looking at the blue mountains and the 

 nearer, gayer-colored hills, but the occupant 

 of the house is nowhere to be found. I was 

 hoping for a chat with him. A seeing man, 

 who lives by himself in such a place as this, 

 is sure to have something to talk about. The 

 last time I was here he told me a pretty story 

 of a hummingbird. He was in the house, as 

 I remember it, when he heard the familiar, 

 squeaking notes of a hummer, and thinking 

 that their persistency must be occasioned by 

 some unusual trouble, went out to investi- 

 gate. Sure enough, there hung the bird in 

 a spider's web attached to a rosebush, while 

 the owner of the web, a big yellow-and-brown, 

 pot-bellied, bloodthirsty rascal, was turning 

 its victim over and over, winding the web 

 about it. Wings and legs were already fast, 

 so that all the bird could do was to cry for 



