MOSS-DRAPED TREES 97 



seat to face the stranger. Fifteen or twenty 

 minutes of closest attention, with eyes glued 

 to that tuft of moss, dragged slowly by be- 

 fore the shy birdling appeared for half a 

 second, darting away like a flash of light. 



Having spent several years among the 

 moss-hung trees on the Maine coast, I had 

 many times looked for the nest of this bird, 

 whose chosen home it is. Hours at a time 

 I had passed with eyes fixed upon some tall, 

 heavily draped tree, showing a hundred de- 

 sirable nesting-places, but never a sign of life 

 had I seen. And at this tree I should never 

 have thought of looking, for it had but one 

 small bunch of moss, and that on its lower 

 branch. Perhaps it was chosen because it 

 was a living branch. Possibly the bird is 

 wise enough not to build on a dead tree. 



The quantity of usnea in these woods was 

 wonderful. The oldest trees were fairly 

 fringed with it, from root to top twig, and 

 one might often see half a dozen in a group 

 together stone dead and swathed in the gray 

 moss like a winding-sheet. Young trees also, 

 strong and vigorous, some even less than a 

 foot high, had here and there a bit of this 



