58 MY STUDIO NEIGHBORS 



avail himself of that happy aphorism with which 

 Gilbert White was wont to instruct his question- 

 ers concerning the natural-history harvest of his 

 beloved Selborne : "That locality is always rich- 

 est which is most observed." 



The arena of the events which I am about to 

 describe and picture comprised a spot of almost 

 bare earth less than one yard square, which lay at 

 the base of the stone step to my studio door in 

 the country. 



The path leading to the studio lay through a 

 tangle of tall grass and weeds, with occasional 

 worn patches showing the bare earth. As it ap- 

 proached the door-step the surface of the ground 

 was quite clean and baked in the sun, and barely 

 supported a few scattered, struggling survivors of 

 the sheep's-sorrel, silvery cinquefoil, ragweed, vari- 

 ous grasses, and tiny rushes which rimmed the 

 border. Sitting upon this threshold stone one 

 morning in early summer, I permitted my eyes to 

 scan the tiny patch of bare ground at my feet, and 

 what I observed during a very few moments sug- 

 gested the present article as a good piece of mis- 

 sionary work in the cause of nature, and a sug- 

 gestive tribute to the glory of the commonplace. 

 The episodes which I shall describe represent 

 the chronicle of a single clay — in truth, of but a 



