THE OLD SUGAR MILL. tat: 
love an original character? For at least 
half an hour the old mill was forgotten, 
while I chased the grackle about, as he flew 
hither and thither, sometimes with a logger- 
head shrike in furious pursuit. Once I had 
gone a few rods into the palmetto scrub, 
partly to be nearer the bird, but still more 
to enjoy the shadow of a pine, and was 
standing under the tree, motionless, when a 
man came along the road ina gig. ‘ Sur- 
veying?”’ he asked, reining in his horse. 
“No, sir; I am looking at a bird in the 
tree yonder.” I wished him to go on, and 
thought it best to gratify his curiosity at 
once. He was silent a moment; then he 
said, ‘ Looking at the old sugar house from 
there?” That was too preposterous, and 
I answered with more voice, and perhaps 
with a touch of impatience, “No, no; I 
am trying to see a bird in that pine-tree.”’ 
He was silent again. Then he gathered up 
the reins. ‘I’m so deaf I can’t hear you,” 
he said, and drove on. ‘‘Good-by,” I re- 
marked, in a needless undertone; “ you ’re 
a good man, I’ve no doubt, but deaf people 
should n’t be inquisitive at long range.” 
The advice was sound enough, in itself 
