ON THE ST. AUGUSTINE ROAD. 161 
woman said to another, as they passed me. 
She was a conservative. I did not join the 
procession, but on other days I talked, first 
and last, with a good many of the people; 
from the preacher, who carried a handsome 
cane and made me a still handsomer bow, 
down to a serious little fellow of six or seven 
years, whom I found standing at the foot of 
the hill, beside a bundle of dead wood. He 
was carrying it home for the family stove, 
and had set it down for a minute’s rest. I 
said something about his burden, and as I 
went on he called after me: ‘“* What kind of 
birds are you hunting for? Ricebirds?” I 
answered that I was looking for birds of all 
sorts. Had he seen any ricebirds lately? 
Yes, he said ; he started a flock the other day 
up on! the hill. “ How did they look?” said 
I. “They is red blackbirds,” he returned. 
This was not the first time I had heard the 
redwing called the ricebird. But how did 
the boy know me for a bird-gazer? That 
was amystery. It came over me all at once 
that possibly I had become better known in 
the community than I had in the least sus- 
1 He did not say ‘‘upon” any more than Northern 
white boys do. 
