176 WOODLAND IDYLS. 



like "tchk tchk," repeated every two or three 

 seconds. A pair of them came flying into the 

 bushes, where now I rest ambushed for ground- 

 hogs, and soon spying me kept up this chuckling 

 note for several minutes. A wood pewee in his 

 flight also headed straight for me, but when ten 

 feet away saw me and veering suddenly to the 

 right alighted on a shrub, then, with head 

 feathers raised in affright or anger, peered at 

 me and began to utter his plaintive cry. 



The marmots are wary this morn, evidently 

 not wishing to serve as targets even for a bad 

 marksman. Two long shots have I had and as 

 usual missed. The young one which on yester- 

 day served as the principal target has not yet 

 appeared. Two are now in sight, but far across 

 the meadow. They feed an instant or two, then 

 sit erect and gaze in all directions, the world- 

 fear ever in their minds. In their dens in the 

 thick clumps of blackberry bushes back of me I 

 can occasionally hear them whining and bark- 

 ing like young puppies. 



Across my tent the shadows fall and o'er my 

 soul they gambol. 



Stew-pan in hand, I saunter slowly up the 

 slope behind the tent, picking berries as I go. 

 The raspberries are going out, the black ones 

 coming in. Why that name "raspberry?" 

 There is nothing rasp- or file-like about it unless 

 it be the rough outside or the hooked prickles 



