THE LANDING. 239 



do not prick ns, is not an cxliilaniting pastime. Tlic siir- 

 roimdin<rs are not conducive to nuick-wittedncss, and 

 the sunshine from above and mosquitoes from every- 

 where distract attention. The most feasible and natu- 

 ral thing of all occurred to me at the last of a long se- 

 ries — to call for help. 



I combined the penetrative elements of shriek, yell, 

 howl, and squeal, hoping some receptive ear might rec- 

 Oirnize the meanintr. It startled the birds, and they 

 quickly came to see what manner of creature had hap- 

 pened into their midst. First, of course, came the tan- 

 talizing cat-bird. He investigated closely — too closely — 

 and then contemplated me, perched within arm's-length 

 of my list. His ultimate conclusion was a spiteful la-a. 

 Every robin and thrush of the whole hill-side came, and 

 the volume of their united voices, in discussion, brought 

 the jays and a pair of crows. 



The crows were more clamorous and bolder than the 

 smaller birds ; and knowing their fancy for a luncheon 

 of the eyes of sick sheep and helpless lambs, I began to 

 have some fear for the safety of mine. I called again 

 in no uncertain tones. It had the initial effect of driv- 

 ing away the avian congress, and then, to my inexpressi- 

 ble relief, I heard a voice answering. Again I shouted, 

 and a quick reply assured me that help was at hand. A 

 moment more, and my rescuer was ready — but his in- 

 genuity was not equal to his desire to aid me. He could 

 no more get into the smilax than I could get out of it. 

 Scratching his head, he remarked, " I don t suppose it 

 will do to burn the briers and let you drop on the ashes, 

 will it ?" 



