IN THE CATSKILLS 



forepaws on my hips. He was apparently as much 

 surprised as I was; and to my inquiry as to what he 

 at that moment might be looking for, he did not 

 pause to reply, but hitting me a slap with his tail 

 which left three or four quills in my blanket, he 

 scampered off down the hill into the brush. 



Being an observer of the birds, of course every 

 curious incident connected with them fell under my 

 notice. Hence, as we stood about our camp-fire one 

 afternoon looking out over the lake, I was the only 

 one to see a little commotion in the water, half hid- 

 den by the near branches, as of some tiny swimmer 

 struggling to reach the shore. Rushing to its rescue 

 in the canoe, I found a yellow-rumped warbler, 

 quite exhausted, clinging to a twig that hung down 

 into the water. I brought the drenched and help- 

 less thing to camp, and, putting it into a basket, 

 hung it up to dry. An hour or two afterward I heard 

 it fluttering in its prison, and, cautiously lifting the 

 lid to get a better glimpse of the lucky captive, it 

 darted out and was gone in a twinkling. How came 

 it in the water ? That was my wonder, and I can 

 only guess that it was a young bird that had never 

 before flown over a pond of water, and, seeing the 

 clouds and blue sky so perfect down there, thought it 

 was a vast opening or gateway into another summer 

 land, perhaps a short cut to the tropics, and so got 

 itself into trouble. How my eye was delighted also 

 with the redbird that alighted for a moment on a dry 

 218 



