WOODLAND PATHS 



go off on tiptoe, very much ashamed, as 

 well he might be. 



Not a fox sparrow could I see; I think 

 they went on the day before, but a king- 

 fisher was flying from cove to cove, spring- 

 ing that cheerful cry of his, which sounds 

 as if someone were rattling a stick on his 

 slats. A meadow lark piped a clear whistle 

 from the top of a pitch pine, then alter- 

 nately fluttered and sailed down into the 

 grass for an early bite. The chipping 

 sparrow swelled his. little gray throat and 

 trilled a homely, contented note, and there 

 was a clamor of blue jays as the hour 

 grew late. 



I find the blue jay a lazy chap. No early 

 morning revelry is for him. Breakfast is 

 a serious matter, not to be entered into 

 lightly or with chattering. Later in the 

 day he is apt to be noisy enough, though 



he never sings in public. The nearest he 

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