98 



OLD 



TRAILS 



in various ways. I can fancy people coming to 

 the bungalow for a day's intercourse with the 

 pasture shrubs that have never before met them, 

 and feeling awkward and disconcerted at not be- 

 ing able to recall names after a wholesale intro- 

 duction. I have felt that way myself after un- 

 dergoing a rapid-fire presentation to a room full 

 of people. If, like the pasture shrubs in this par- 

 ticular corner of the pasture world, all these could 

 have worn a name and address on coat-lapel or 

 corsage, I had come up to the second round able 

 to call each fearlessly by name and oftentimes 

 save mutual embarrassment. 



But there are minor considerations, after all. 

 I have an idea that the pasture shrubs may never 

 take kindly to thus carrying conventional calling 

 cards, and that shyer still and more nimble-footed 

 friends will finally relieve them of what wind 

 and rain have left. In a year or two I shall find 

 the cards nameless and built in as foundations of 

 nests of jay birds and white-footed mice, or 

 worked up more skillfully yet by white-faced 

 hornets into the gray paper of their nests. This 

 is a carefully adjusted world and the instinctive 

 movements of all creatures go to the keeping of 

 the perfect balance. The normal attacks the 



