WALKING AS AN ART 



lilies floating on the surface. The red-winged 

 blackbirds are down here at the creek, and 

 their liquid clean whistle, " oak-a-lee, oak-a- 

 lee, clack-clack, oak-a-lee," sounds sweetly 

 over the water. In those tall rushes and 

 grasses you would " jump " a bittern if you 

 were to push into the cover with a skiff. 



We turn into the woods here and begin to 

 go around the head of the lake. This timber 

 is squirrel-timber. That tree there what 

 would I call it? A massive trunk with no 

 branches for a height of fifty feet from the 

 ground. It isn't an oak, an ash, an elm, a 

 hickory, basswood, or sycamore. Oh, you 

 have noticed that bead of gummy sap in that 

 crack of the trunk, have you? a wild-cherry 

 tree. You would have hardly believed that 

 they could grow to be such splendid trees. 



There goes a fox-squirrel. He is just 

 stretching himself across the grass and, doubt- 

 less, believes himself to be in imminent dan- 

 ger. We will give him a chase for the nearest 

 den. Now he goes up an oak, and in the very 

 top he whirls around a limb and the wind 

 dangles the tip of his fluffy red tail from the 

 treetop. 



73 



