AT LINDEN BEND. 11 



denly, and turning its head to one side, seemed anxious 

 to catch the entire repetition of some few strains of pe- 

 culiar beauty or emphasis which it had just uttered. 



In all my wanderings this was the first time that I 

 had heard a bird's song under such circumstances, the 

 nearest approach to it being when the whippoorwill sat 

 upon my grandfather's wood-pile and sung the livelong 

 night. Its monotonous song was indistinctly echoed — 

 but that was nearly forty years ago. 



I was willing, if need be, to wait until the incoming 

 tide released me, should the thrush remain singing. This 

 was not to be. I was, as usual, fated to have some un- 

 welcome intruder break the charm. A noisy kingfisher 

 came hurrying down the creek, and his rattling cry not 

 only drowned the thrush's voice, but drove him, in dis- 

 gust, to the near-by woods. The new-comer's harsh 

 notes were echoed to perfection, and as it flew on a de- 

 pressing silence brooded over the creek. Linden Bend, 

 for the time, was desolate, until my splashing and rock- 

 ing of the boat, in earnest efforts to release it, caused 

 the creek to renew its usual animation. These move- 

 ments promptly brought in part the hidden life to the 

 front, to see what might be the cause of so great a com- 

 motion. An enormous bull-frog popped his wondering 

 eyes above the water, a beautiful snake crawled from 

 the creek to the muddy shore, and knowing it was safe, 

 stared back at me with all the impudence born of mock 

 courage ; fishes leaped into the air, and myriads of coal- 

 black scuttle-bugs crowded into the little waves, as if to 

 enjoy the novelty of rocking in troubled waters. 



This is not an uncommon experience. Curiosity is 



