UNDER THE MAPLES 



the sharpest-eyed enemy. No doubt it passed 

 the night posing as a twig. 



Among the sylvan denizens that next came upon 

 the stage were a hummingbird, a Httle red newt, 

 and a wood frog. The hummer makes short 

 work of everything: with a flash and a hum it is 

 gone. This one seemed to be exploring the dry 

 twigs for nesting-material, either spiders' webs or 

 bits of lichen. For a brief moment it perched on a 

 twig a few yards from me. My ardent wish could 

 not hold it any longer. Truly a fairy bird, appear- 

 ing and vanishing like a thought, familiar with the 

 heart of all the flowers and taking no food grosser 

 than their nectar, the winged jewel of the poets, the 

 surprise and delight of all beholders — it came like 

 a burnished meteor into my leafy alcove and 

 was gone as quickly. 



All sylvan things have a charm and delicacy of 

 their own, all except the woodchuck; wherever he 

 is, he is of the earth earthy. The wood frog is 

 known only to woodsmen and farm boys. He is a 

 real sylvan frog, as pretty as a bird, the color of the 

 dry leaves, slender and elegant in form and quick 

 and furtive in movement. My feet disturbed one 

 in the bed of dry leaves. Slowly I moved my hand 

 toward him and stroked his back with a twig. If 

 you can tickle a frog's back in any way you put 

 a spell upon him. He becomes quite hypnotized. 

 He was instantly responsive to my passes. He 



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