and, with her unerring bird instinct, 

 sought first of all the gray stump 

 which, alas, was not quite a stump 

 after all, and was indeed the cause of 

 the danger. She saw the terrible in- 

 strument still pointed at her husband, 

 and her heart fluttered wildly; but 

 there was no report, and she watched 

 him till she could only see the oc- 

 casional flash of the gold-lined wings 

 and the white spot on his back; and 

 then behold, the stump was once more 

 a stump, and Mrs. Flicker returned to 

 her eggs. 



When Mr. Flicker came back, he 

 flew past his house without once swerv- 

 ing, and disappeared in a pine tree on 

 the edge of the orchard, and a con- 

 clave of cedar waxwings in the next 

 tree discussed his tactics enthusiasti- 

 cally. The cedar waxwings were also 

 interested in the gray stump — but afraid 

 of it? Oh no, not they! Care sits 

 lightly on the cedar waxwing's top- 

 knot, and he never takes his dangers 

 seriously. 



A series of deceiving and circuitous 

 flights finally landed Mr. Flicker at 

 his own door, and he perched himself 

 in his hiding-place of leaves and 

 watched the gray stump with an air of 

 settled gloom. 



However, a bird is a bird, even 

 though it be a serious flicker, and be- 

 fore many minutes he and his wife 

 were chatting happily again. Mrs. 

 Flicker even asserted boldly that if 

 she had not her eggs to look after, she 

 would certainly investigate this thing; 

 and then Mr. Flicker began to preen 



his feathers as if in preparation for the 

 undertaking, but really to gain time 

 and get up his courage, when, "Take 

 care ! Take care !" came notes of warn- 

 ing from the catbirds; and the stump 

 suddenly lengthened itself like a tele- 

 scope and walked away, with its two- 

 eyed instrument under its arm. Mr. 

 and Mrs. Flicker watched it gather a 

 spray of late apple blossoms, saw it 

 climb the fence and disappear down 

 the road. 



" I beg your pardon," said polite 

 little Mrs. Flicker to her husband. " I 

 was wrong; it is not a stump. But," 

 she added coaxingly, " it really is more 

 like a stump than a person, now isn't it? 

 And I should not be afraid of it again." 



When Miss Melissa Moore, school 

 teacher, returned to Manhattan after 

 her summer vacation, she confided to 

 a fellow-teacher that she had made 

 seventy new acquaintances, and that 

 she loved them all. Now Miss Melissa 

 Moore, in her wildest dreams, never 

 thought of herself as being beautiful, 

 being a plain, honest person; she even 

 knew that her bird-hunting costume — 

 the short gray skirt and gray flannel 

 shirt-waist and gray felt hat, whose 

 brim hung disconsolately over her 

 glasses, with no color at all to brighten 

 her — was not becoming, but if she had 

 dreamed that Mrs. Flicker had called 

 her an old gray moss-covered stump, 

 she would, being only human, have cut 

 her once and forever, and her list of 

 new acquaintances would have num- 

 bered sixty-nine. 



REMEMBERED SONGS. 



I walked an autumn lane, and ne'er a 

 tune 

 Besieged mine ear from hedge or 



ground or tree; 

 The summer minstrels all 'had fared 

 from me 

 Far southward, since the snows must 



flock so soon. 

 And yet the air seemed vibrant with 

 the croon 

 Of unseen birds and words of May- 

 tide glee; 

 The very silence was a melody 



Sown thick withmemoried cadences of 

 June. 



Shall we not hold that when our little 

 day 

 Is done, and we are of men no more. 

 We still live on in some such subtle 

 way, 

 To make some silence vocal by some 

 shore 

 Of Recollection, or to only play 

 Soft songs on hearts that loved us long 

 before? —Richard Burton. 



