UNDER SHADOW OF WACHUSETT 87 



bird flew while his mate scolded and hov- 

 ered above the boat. Paddling up, I was 

 taken aback to find in the crotch of the 

 stub, but a foot above water, 

 their nest and in it three 

 blotched eggs. As I left 

 them to their lighthouse 

 home I wished them well, 

 but if they had left the land 

 for safety I had misgivings 

 whether their offspring would 

 ever reach terra firma, for 

 their first flight would have 

 to be over fifty yards. A wild venture 

 for a young king. A kingfisher seemed 

 to agree with me as he flew over. 



On the morning of July nineteenth I 

 started on a seven-mile drive to the 

 summit of Wachusett. The sky was 

 overhung with dark rain-clouds as the 

 horse trotted over the pond bridges leav- 

 ing the farm. The roadside was gay 

 with summer flowers ; fire-weed, wood 

 lilies, meadowsweet and steeple-bush 

 caught the eye. Swallows circled about 

 the old farms, cedar birds whined in the 

 orchards and indigo birds sang incessantly 

 from the young birches. Many vesper 



