26o Bird-Lori^, 



In those days I was frail and delicate and considered a 2- or 3-mile hike 

 enough for a day and was often tired by it. Last summer I hiked 16^ miles 

 in five hours, although I hadn't gone more than 4 miles when I was caught in 

 a thunderstorm. When I arrived home I was soaked to the skin, but I had a 

 rub-down with a rough towel and got into dry clothes and showed no ill effects 

 afterward. I owe my present health and my First-Class Scout badge to my 

 interest in bird-study that kept me tramping the Intervale trail once or twice 

 a day. 



Ernest Thompson Seton's 'Two Little Savages' did more to interest me in 

 wild life than any other book. The Boy Scout 'Handbook,' 'Freckles' and 

 some of Long's and Robert's books were among my first natural history 

 books. 



That first year I had a hard time of it, but by working hard and sticking to 

 it I managed to make a start in ornithology. I kept a journal that year, filled 

 with notes on the birds and sketches. Looking over it now I can make many 

 corrections, but it is nevertheless something that I would not part with. 



That winter I subscribed for Bird-Lore and got a copy of Reed's 'Water 

 Birds.' The Educational Leaflets of the Audubon Society, bound into a book, 

 and 'Birds Every Child Should Know' completed my library. 



During the winter I did a lot of sketching and made many trips into the 

 snow-covered woods where I found Black-capped Chickadees, Red-breasted 

 Nuthatches, and Golden-crowned Kinglets. 



In early March the Crows came north. Toward the last of March, rushing 

 water and brown fields began to take the place of the ice and snow. The hill- 

 sides were covered with hundreds of tiny brooks which made walking undesir- 

 able. Then the Crackles began to arrive, at first in small flocks and later by 

 the hundreds, to squeak and clatter in the tops of the leafless trees. Robins 

 and Bluebirds appeared in the orchard, pecking away at last year's apples. 

 Song Sparrows tuned up in the alder bushes along the edge of icy brooks. It 

 was a time to be outdoors and on the watch. Some of the arriving migrants 

 were new, and I added them to my list, and many were old friends which I 

 was glad to see again. 



I was busy all through the spring, but when August came the mosquitos 

 and flies made the woods unbearable. The woods were also too hot, and few 

 birds were to be seen, so we set out to visit at my uncle's farm near Truro, 

 Nova Scotia. 



Our train pulled out of Bangor at 4 o'clock in the morning. I had traveled 

 about a little before, having been born in New Brunswick and lived in New- 

 foundland and different parts of Nova Scotia and Maine, so it seemed like old 

 times for me to be spinning along over the rails through the gray dawn. Going 

 through New Brunswick in broad daylight I was, of course, at the window 

 I got a glimpse of a Martin-house on a pole and a male and female in the air' 

 about it. That was the only time that I ever saw a Martin, 



