NEW GLEANINGS IN OLD FIELDS 



human. Valor, heroism, stir us in whatever field 

 they appear. 



As I write, a little chippie comes among the vines 

 on my porch looking for nesting-material. The old 

 spring impulse to increase and multiply is strong 

 upon her; she tugs at the strings that tie the vines, 

 she scrutinizes every branch for some shred or bit 

 that will serve her purpose. She interests me and I 

 lend her a hand by releasing some of the strings 

 which she could not manage. I am familiar with her 

 problem, as we all are. The cliff swallows daintily 

 gathering mud at the edges of a puddle in the road, 

 lifting their wings and standing on tip-toe as it 

 were, to guard against soiling their plumage, is a 

 sight I always pause to witness. 



Yesterday I sat for an hour in the woods near a 

 dead maple-stub in which a flicker was excavating 

 her nest. At intervals the hammering would cease, 

 and the bird, on her guard against the approach of 

 stealthy enemies, would appear at the opening and 

 take a long look. Finally, when she discovered me, 

 she came out and went off in the woods, and seemed 

 to have some conversation with her mate. 



All the industries and ways and means among the 

 animals are interesting. A chipmunk carrying nuts 

 and seeds to her den, a red squirrel cutting off the 

 chestnut burrs, too impatient to wait for the frost 

 to open them on the trees, even a woodchuck carry- 

 ing dry grass and stubble into his hole for a nest, 



