Bonasa Umbellus, Rex. 19 



One Sunday morning in May the sun 

 shone warmly in upon the budding sap- 

 lings of the swale. The naiads of the 

 brook murmured with hushed voices and 

 the trailing arbutus which overhung the 

 bank gave out a rarer fragrance than it 

 would have done on any rude week day. 

 Hardly a sound was heard save the 

 wandering tones of the church bell in the 

 far-off village, and the only appreciable 

 motion of the air was in the gentle breaths 

 that rise almost imperceptibly from the 

 warming soil of quiet glades. 



With almost noiseless footsteps a de- 

 mure hen grouse walked from the edge of 

 the thick moist woods and stopped for a 

 moment a little way out in the brush lot. 

 Again she went on and again paused, 

 looked about her and listened, with one 

 foot daintily lifted from the ground. 

 Thus by degrees she advanced out among 

 the saplings, her head gracefully moving 

 back and forth in unison with her foot- 

 steps and the pretty brown neck feathers 

 gliding so softly over each other that they 

 seemed like one warp and woof of silk. 



