106 FOOTING IT IN FRANCONIA 



catbird, not far off, amused me by whistling 

 a most exact reproduction of his breezy quit, 

 quee-quee-o. If the voice had come from a 

 treetop instead of from the depths of a low 

 thicket, the illusion would have been com- 

 plete. It is the weakness of imitators, al- 

 ways and everywhere, to forget one thing or 

 another. 



Still the bird I was waiting for made no 

 sign, and finally I left the swamp and started 

 up the road. Possibly he had gone in that 

 direction, where I first saw him. No, he was 

 not there, and, giving over the hunt, I turned 

 back toward the village. Then, as I came 

 opposite the barn again, I heard the notes in 

 the old place, and hastened up the path. 

 This time I was lucky, for there the bird sat 

 on the outermost spray of a fir-tree branch. 

 It was his most characteristic attitude. I 

 can see him there now. 



As I quitted the swamp for good, a man 

 in a buggy was coming down the road. I 

 put on my coat, and as he overtook me I said, 

 " I was putting on my coat because I felt 

 sure you would invite me to ride." He 

 smiled, and bade me get in ; and though he 



