GHOSTS OF THE NORTHEASTER 191 



table mixing pot for the autumn colors to come, 

 yellow with goldenrod, blue with asters, purple 

 with Joe-Pye weed, rosy because of the hard- 

 hack, and rimmed with delicate gray-white of 

 thoroughwort. These colors it will hold until 

 the maples take fire and the green of birches pales 

 to softest yellow at the expectation of October. 

 So the flash of coolness in the air after rain set 

 all the woodf oik busy. The squirrels seemed to 

 scold more shrilly and dance along the boughs 

 inspecting the swelling chestnut burrs with a 

 livelier kick than before. About this time, too, 

 the bluejays begin to be prophetic of autumn. 

 Hardly through July and early August has a loud 

 note been heard from these birds. Often the re- 

 cesses of the pines have been full of a gentle 

 tinkling whicker as of muted tin pans that prac- 

 tised in the hope of some day becoming real 

 phonographs, voices of young and old bluejays 

 holding family councils interspersed with quiet 

 joviality, but there has been none of the strident 

 clamor which is the autumn voice of the bird. 

 Today, however, in the cool, refreshing breeze 

 out of the northwest it rang through the wood 

 with familiar vigor, a herald, blowing trumpets 

 in advance of autumn. It is really all settled; 



