4 MY STUDIO NEIGHBORS 



the birds build and sing in his branches and 

 the " wee wild beasties " nest in his pockets. If 

 he fails to be aware of the fact, more's the pity. 

 His desolation is within, not without, in spite of, 

 not because of, his surroundings. 



Here in my country studio — not a hermitage, 

 'tis true, but secluded among trees, some distance 

 isolated from my own home and out of sight of 

 any other — what company ! What occasional " tu- 

 multuous privacy " is mine ! I have frequently 

 been obliged to step out upon the porch and re- 

 quest a modulation of hilarity and a more cour- 

 teous respect for my hospitality. But this is 

 evidently entirely a matter of point of view, 

 and, judging from the effects of my protests at 

 such times, my assumed superior air of conde- 

 scension is apparently construed as a huge joke. 

 If the resultant rejoinder of wild volapiik and 

 expressive pantomime has any significance, it is 

 plain that I am desired to understand that my 

 exact status is that of a squatter on contested 

 territory. 



There are those snickering squirrels, for in- 

 stance ! At this moment two of them are having 

 a rollicking game of tag on the shingled roof — a 

 pandemonium of scrambling, scratching, squeal- 

 ing, and growling — ever and anon clambering 



