CHAPTER Xin. 

 AN OCTOBER DIARY— CONTINUED. 



October 10. — The predicted frost has come. Not in 

 uncertain patches that needed a glass to detect them, 

 but as a generous gift to everything tliat looked up- 

 ward to the star-lit sky. Before sunrise I heard a song- 

 sparrow rejoicing, " Good, good, good, autumn's coming." 



It was charming to hear the meadow-larks this morn- 

 ing. From the top of a tall oak that stands alone in 

 the fields an old bird whistled, " I see you — you can't 

 see me," and I could not. The cunning bird knew well 

 how to arrange himself with reference to the surround- 

 ing leaves, and, with perfect security, whistled to his 

 heart's content, and with just a suspicion of banter in 

 his tones. Nearer and nearer I drew towards the tree, 

 and still he sang, " I see you — you can't see me." Final- 

 ly I reached the long shadow of the tree, and the lark 

 probably had this as his guide, for, once there, he arose 

 directly upward from the tree's topmost twig, and, as if 

 to ridicule my eyesight, whistled with redoubled energy, 

 "You can't see me;" but I did, and heard him so plain- 

 ly that the music of his early morning song still lingers 

 clearly in my memory, so clearly that I have but to 

 close my eyes to see again the field, the tree, the rising 

 sun, and the lark. 



The meadow-lark is one of several birds that are usu- 



