UNIQUE STRAWBERRY FESTIVAL. 79 



the remains of somebody's luncheon, he reap- 

 peared, holding in his mouth another straw- 

 berry, bounded over the ground to his former 

 seat, and proceeded to dispose of that one, also. 

 The scene was so charming and his pleasure so 

 genuine that I forgave the careless traveler on 

 the spot, and only wished I had a kodak to 

 secure a permanent picture of this unique straw- 

 berry festival. 



As I loitered along, gazing idly at the brook, 

 ever listening and longing for the wren song, I 

 was suddenly struck motionless by a loud, shrill, 

 and peculiar cry. It was plainly a bird voice, 

 and it seemed to come almost from the stream 

 itself. It ceased in a moment, and then fol- 

 lowed a burst of song, liquid as the singing of 

 the brook, and enchantingly sweet, though very 

 low. I was astounded. Who could sing like 

 that up in this narrow mountain gorge, where I 

 supposed the canon wren was king? 



At the point where I stood, a straggling 

 shrub, the only one for rods, hung over the 

 brink. I silently sank to a seat behind it, lest 

 I disturb the singer, and remained without 

 movement. The baffling carol went on for some 

 seconds, and for the only time in my life I 

 wished I could put a spell upon brook-babble, 

 that I might the better hear. 



Cautiously I raised my glass to my eyes, and 



