Under the Oaks and Elsewhere 



sand ! sand ! all the day, as if they would sell it 

 by the ton. 



Waiting for a moment until another shellbark 

 dropped, a blue-jay perched upon a bare twig 

 and sang after its fashion. It was a short series 

 of discordant notes; collectively, a harsh, rat- 

 tling, corvine call, and yet it blended well with 

 the gnarly branches and shaggy bark. Ooarse, 

 but honest to the core. There was nothing for 

 mere appearance's sake, such as gluts you in 

 modern assemblages of men. The blue-jay is a 

 bird murderer, but he does not care a whit who 

 knows it. There is no stabbing in the back 

 about him, and now that the spared nestlings 

 of summer are all on the wing, and there is no 

 lack of them, we forget the foul deeds, as we 

 thought them, that so sorely vexed us in June, 

 and take the jay for what he is to-day. No 

 summer sky was ever a finer blue than is his 

 plumage, and no jauntier crest ever reared its 

 defiance. To whom does he call, I wonder, as 

 he cries loudly, again and again, and then, hear- 

 ing no answer at all, whips the idle air with 

 impatient wings and is gone. The gentle sum- 

 mer shower, when every rain-drop falls as if 

 saying, "By your leave," is all very well in its 



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