UNDER THE MAPLES 



the sharpest-eyed enemy. No doubt it passed 

 the night posing as a twig. 



Among the sylvan denizens that next came upon 

 the stage were a hummingbird, a little red newt, 

 and a wood frog. The hummer makes short 

 work of everything: with a flash and a hum it is 

 gone. This one seemed to be exploring the dry 

 twigs for nesting-material, either spiders' webs or 

 bits of lichen. For a brief moment it perched on a 

 twig a few yards from me. My ardent wish could 

 not hold it any longer. Truly a fairy bird, appear- 

 ing and vanishing like a thought, familiar with the 

 heart of all the flowers and taking no food grosser 

 than their nectar, the winged jewel of the poets, the 

 surprise and delight of all beholders it came like 

 a burnished meteor into my leafy alcove and 

 was gone as quickly. 



All sylvan things have a charm and delicacy of 

 their own, all except the woodchuck; wherever he 

 is, he is of the earth earthy. The wood frog is 

 known only to woodsmen and farm boys. He is a 

 real sylvan frog, as pretty as a bird, the color of the 

 dry leaves, slender and elegant in form and quick 

 and furtive in movement. My feet disturbed one 

 in the bed of dry leaves. Slowly I moved my hand 

 toward him and stroked his back with a twig. If 

 you can tickle a frog's back in any way you put 

 a spell upon him. He becomes quite hypnotized. 

 He was instantly responsive to my passes. He 



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