SOME OF THE WILD THINGS 



of the few sunshiny days rescued from a cold, 

 rainy spring month. The trees were forward, 

 and for the most part covered with full-grown 

 leaves. The white oaks were late, as usual, 

 their leaves were tiny, and at a distance looked 

 to be a silvery gray in the sunshine. The 

 hillsides west of Magnolia Swamp were lighted 

 up by this immature gray foliage, while here 

 and there the dark green of the pines afforded 

 a pleasing contrast. 



I found the sap orchard deserted. The 

 trees, red maples and canoe-birches, were dead 

 or dying. The sapsuckers and their self-in- 

 vited guests, the humming-birds, had drained 

 the life-blood of their helpless victims. All 

 of the maples were still standing, but many 

 of the gray birches had been broken off by 

 the wind just below the belt of punctures. 



While I was searching for another sap or- 

 chard, I saw a barred owl, with something in 

 his bill, fly to a grove of small hemlocks. I 

 followed on my hands and knees, and found 

 his owlship on a low limb. Evidently this was 

 his breakfast-hour. The thing in his bill 

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