SMALL BIRD TALK 535 



bring a log and put it on the fire till the blaze 

 reaches so high that it will illuminate the whole 

 country around, so that people will stop and ask 

 what that light means reflected in the sky ; and you 

 can honestly reply, "That means a REVOLUTION 

 a revolution from the hard, suicidal, unsentimental, 

 dollar-and-cent way of viewing life, to one in which 

 each of us is doing our little part to restore this 

 world, as near as may be, to its original plan of a 

 pleasure-ground and garden for those who are so- 

 journing here." 



Vacation is almost over. The author has been 

 working in his log house on the banks of Big Tink 

 Pond. Outside the chipmunks are scolding, in the 

 swail the oven-bird is calling, and at night the 

 whip-poor-will across the lake repeats its own name 

 as fast as it can for over a hundred times in suc- 

 cession without taking breath. The other night we 

 counted one hundred and eighty times that this 

 energetic, long-winded bird repeated whip-poor- 

 will, although often it sounds as if the bird was 

 saying, "Whip her well." One evening two of 

 these birds flew down where the writer was sitting, 

 and took a position within reach of his hand. Both 

 birds then made a low, clucking noise which was 

 accepted as a friendly greeting. 



The blue lupin has gone to seed, the golden- 

 rod is turning yellow, the fringed gentian has 

 swelling buds and the mushrooms and toadstools 

 make spots of color in the pathway and mingle 



