MY WOODLAND INTIMATES 



of a dispute over a particularly luscious morsel 

 perhaps. A worm-flavored cherry, for instance; 

 or is it a quarrel regarding boundary lines and 

 right-of-way questions? Whatever the cause of 

 the contention, that feathered philosopher who 

 has just alighted at the scene of the dispute is de- 

 termined to turn the occasion to his own advan- 

 tage. Note the business-like way in which he 

 proceeds to dispose of the fruit which the combat- 

 ants have deserted in order to settle the quarrel. 



The orchard represents one large cider-press, 

 and nearly every windfall apple and pear is a 

 wasp table d'hote. Beware, step cautiously, for 

 each of the bodies now swaying in ecstasy carries 

 a sharp w r eapon for the punishment of trespassers. 



Jolly golden pumpkins peer gayly out from 

 among their cornstalk wigwams, and long lines 

 of celery rise prosperously from newly raised in- 

 trenchments. The asparagus is decked in deli- 

 cate green feathers and scarlet berries, and the 

 parsley leaves are crimped to perfection. Corpu- 

 lent beets, golden carrots, purple egg-plants, ple- 

 beian turnips, argus-eyed potatoes representa- 

 tives of the entire kitchen-garden tribe, in fact, 

 appear at this horn-of-plenty scene. 



You notice that the chorus of insects is scarcely 



[40] 



