276 IN A LOG CAMP 



When I found that the young were out, I 

 kept close watch of the feeding. The mother 

 or must I say mothers ? brought worms 

 so big that I could see them. They were not 

 dug out from under the bark, but picked off, 

 and if the trees around were not stripped of 

 worms it was not for lack of diligence on 

 their part. Remembering this bird's reputa- 

 tion as a sapsucker, I looked carefully for 

 punctures in the bark of the maple-trees in 

 the vicinity, but I looked in vain. 



I have spoken of the torments that made 

 out-of-door study heroic, black flies, which 

 I never encountered before, and the familiar 

 torture of the mosquito. They came together, 

 they came in hosts, and they came every 

 hour of the day, one singing around the 

 face in a way to drive one wild, the other 

 silent but inflexible of purpose, persistent in 

 effort, and never failing to get in its mad- 

 dening work. 



Then I learned the value of a camp 

 " smudge." The word has a repelling sound, 

 and the idea is not agreeable, but the relief 

 is rapture, and I learned what surprised 

 me that one can be happy and listen en- 



