A STARTLED flutter in the shrub- 

 bery and a glimpse of white and 

 neutral colours curving and disappearing among 

 the bushes revealed the secret of a Mourning 

 Dove. With maternal instinct she followed a low 

 and concealed course, but her rustling strokes de- 

 clared her identity. They made a marked contrast 

 with the silent flight of a recently disturbed Whip- 

 Poor-Will. The trees had been cleared away three 

 years before, and the second growth rising at will 

 among the stumps and struggling for supremacy 

 with a vagrant entanglement of Raspberry bushes 

 made an ideal nesting-place. A rambling, sluggish 

 depression held sufficient weed-clogged water to cover 

 the mossy roots and leave an opening where the 

 Muskrats swam and waded by turns or surveyed an 

 intruder with unfriendly looks before disappearing 

 for their submerged tunnels. On the higher ground 

 the few stumps that had not been curtained by the 

 bushes made comfortable resting places for the lazy 

 Woodchucks basking in the sun. Squirrels chirred 



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