24 THE CLERK OF THE WOODS 



bushy tract, where fire has blackened every- 

 thing, a chewink speaks his name, and then 

 falls to repeating a peculiarly jaunty variation 

 of the family tune. Dignity is hardly the 

 chewink's strong point. Now a field sparrow 

 gives out a measure. There is an artist! 

 Few can excel him, though many can make 

 more show. Like the vesper sparrow, he has 

 a gift of sweet and holy simplicity. And 

 what can be better than that? Overhead, 

 hurrying with might and main toward the 

 woods, flies a crow, with four kingbirds after 

 him. Perhaps he suffers for his own mis- 

 deeds ; perhaps for those of his race. All 

 crows look alike to kingbirds, I suspect. 



This, and much beside, while I rest in the 

 shade of a pine, taking the beauty of the 

 clouds and listening to the wind in the tree- 

 tops. The best part of every ramble is the 

 part that escapes the notebook. 



