STALKING THE WILD GRAPE 



IT was to be a moonlight night, yet 

 the moon was on the wane and would 

 not rise until eleven. It seemed as if the 

 pasture birds missed the moon, or ex- 

 pected it, for beginning with the June 

 dusk at eight o'clock one after another 

 made brief queries from red cedar shel- 

 ter or greenbrier thicket. One or two 

 indeed insisted on pouring forth snatches 

 of morning song, sending them questing 

 through the darkness for several min- 

 utes, then ceasing as if ashamed of hav- 

 ing been misled. 



The cuckoo, of course, you may hear 



often on any warm night, springing his 



watchman's rattle chuckle from the denser 



part of the thicket. But for the brown 



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