228 EVERYDAY ADVENTURES 



One day it would come from the house, and again 

 from the edge of the woods. Yet, skulk and peer and 

 listen as I would, I could never locate the singer or 

 identify the song. 



The revelation came one Sunday morning, as two 

 of us were breakfasting on the terrace close to the 

 house. Suddenly that vile song began. It seemed to 

 come from near the top of a tree by the farther end 

 of the house. I rushed to the place, my napkin 

 flapping as I ran. By the time I reached the tree, the 

 song came from the opposite side of the house. Back 

 I hastened, only to find that the bird had once more 

 flitted to the other side. I hurried there, but again 

 that bird was gone, and a moment later sang from 

 the farthest end of the house. Three separate times 

 I circled the place, with the singer and the song al- 

 ways just ahead of me. It was only when I noticed 

 that my companion at breakfast had fallen forward 

 on the table overcome by emotion, that I began to 

 suspect the worse. I hid behind a tree and waited. 

 A moment later I saw the alleged bird-enthusiast, 

 clothed in preposterous pink pajamas, and blowing 

 false and fluting notes on a tin bird-whistle, the silly 

 kind that children fill with water and blow through. 

 I have not yet been able to live down that bird-song. 



When I was a boy, there were four of us who always 

 hunted and fished and tramped and explored together. 

 We never supposed that anything could separate 

 us. Yet the years have blown us apart, and we 

 go adventuring together no more. Alone of that 



