SOME ROCK-HAUNTING BIRDS 



and between the two are miles — enough, and 

 not too many — of a companionable pine forest; 

 a forest, I mean to say, that is large enough and 

 dark enough to be impressive, — a real forest, 

 that is, — yet so far open to the sun, and so easily 

 traversed, as to put a congenial stroller, even 

 within the first day or two, on terms of something 

 like old acquaintance. Both shores, too, are hap- 

 pily diversified; a bold, rocky, surf-pounded coast 

 for the most part, with here and there short sandy 

 or pebbly beaches. 



In the pine woods were many interesting things, 

 with which I am not here concerned. The beaches 

 brought me nothing, not so much as a single wader, 

 I believe ; but the surf-beaten rocks, of which, in 

 my ignorance, I had made no great account, were 

 generous with surprises. I was fortunate, I sup- 

 pose, in happening along at exactly the right 

 minute to catch certain rock-haunting species in 

 the course of their northward migration. 



It was on the fourth of March that I walked 

 through the forest to the ocean, and then, turn- 

 ing to the right, sauntered slowly down the coast 

 toward the lighthouse. Moss Beach was empty 

 as usual, and I had gone some distance beyond, 

 over the dunes, looking for nothing in particular 

 (some of my best hours were of this complexion, 

 for even a naturalist may now and then have a 

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