6 MY STUDIO NEIGHBORS 



half-hour observing his frisky gambols on the hill- 

 side across the dingle below my porch, as he 

 jumped apparently for mice in the sloping rowen- 

 field. How quickly he responded to my slightest 

 interruption of voice or footfall, running to the 

 cover of the alders ! 



The little red-headed chippy, the most familiar 

 and sociable of our birds, of course pays me his 

 frequent visit, hopping in at the door and picking 

 up I don't know what upon the floor. A barn- 

 swallow occasionally darts in through the open 

 window and out again at the door, as though for 

 very sport, only a few days since skimming be- 

 neath my nose, while its wings fairly tipped the 

 pen with which I was writing. The chipmonk 

 has long made himself at home, and his scratch- 

 ing footsteps on my door -sill, or even in my 

 closet, is a not uncommon episode. Now and 

 then through the day I hear a soft pat-pat on the 

 hard-wood floor, at intervals of a few seconds, and 

 realize that my pet toad, which has voluntarily 

 taken up its abode in an old bowl on the closet 

 floor, is taking his afternoon outing, and with his 

 always seemingly inconsistent lightning tongue is 

 picking up his casual flies at three inches sight 

 around the base-board. 



A mouse, I see, has heaped a neat little pile of 



