76 WOODLAND IDYLS. 



indulge. While I am not hunting I have my 

 rifle by my side ready for whatever emergency 

 may arise. A ground-hog may stick forth his 

 muzzle from some burrow in the hillside. A 

 crow or hen-hawk may alight within range. A 

 gray squirrel may even bark when I sneeze as 

 once happened, years ago, within fifty yards of 

 where I sit. Any one of these would tempt me 

 to try my aim. I would probably miss, for I 

 am but a tyro at rifle shooting. What matters 

 it? I would be the more content with having 

 had the gun to miss. 



On one side of where I rest and again half 

 way down the bluff there are suspended from 

 the twigs of trees two paper nests, cone-shaped, 

 perfect in outline and but little larger than a 

 good sized hen's egg. They are the product of 

 a species of hornet, the first paper maker of the 

 world. For a million years his sign has been 

 hanging out: "Paper, soft and gray made to 

 order (for myself) when needed." This paper 

 is made from wood pulp formed by gnawing 

 off small fibres of weather-worn but not decayed 

 wood from old fence rails, posts, sides of houses, 

 etc. These fibres are then reduced to a paste or 

 pulp by the action of the jaws, probably aided 

 by a fluid excreted by the mouth. This is 

 strong, gray and waterproof and is spread out 

 into sheets of considerable size which are used 

 in enveloping the nests. The nest nearest me is 



