EN ROUTE 



striped heads golden centres bordered by narrow 

 bands of velvety black and just then, thanks to 

 the clever acrobatic feat by which one little fellow 

 remained suspended head downward a few sec- 

 onds, I caught sight of a glowing bit of deep 

 orange in the heart of the golden crown. This 

 last bit of adornment is the distinguishing mark of 

 the male's cap. 



Let us loiter a little in the neighborhood of this 

 feu-de-joie. I love the smell of burning brush 

 and leaves; and the fine smoke that rises from 

 these fragrant pyres blends most harmoniously 

 with the delicate haze of our Indian summer at- 

 mosphere. 



Indian summer ! Have you ever heard the red 

 man's story of the origin of the name? It was 

 brought to me from far-off northern lands where 

 the child of the forest still dwells; and with 

 every dreamy, hazy, mellow autumn day it comes 

 to my remembrance anew. 



When summer days dawn on the land that for 

 so many long, dark, terrible months has been held 

 in winter's fierce grasp, the Indian ever child- 

 like and improvident gives himself up unreserv- 

 edly to the delights of the genial season. He 

 hunts and fishes as the fancy takes him, but with 



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