1 66 THE STORY OF A BIRD LOVER 



just before parting, that I had heard of a certain 

 Parson Kilgore who resided some miles below, 

 and asked whether he knew if I could get 

 quarters there. He thought I probably could, 

 but I saw that my reference to Parson Kilgore 

 somewhat nettled the old gentleman. As we 

 pushed off from the dock to go out to the schooner, 

 it was almost dark, not more than half an hour 

 or so of daylight remaining. We had perhaps 

 proceeded some twenty feet, when there was a 

 hail from the door of the warehouse, and the 

 high, strident, nasal tones of the patriarch sounded 

 across the water, shouting, " S-a-ay, Scaat, you-all 

 kin hev th' house." So we returned and con- 

 cluded the bargain. 



The next morning we brought ashore all our 

 various belongings. Again we set up our camp, 

 this time in the shade of a banana patch, fronting 

 an orange-grove of many acres, in which grew the 

 choice varieties that are produced by the soil of 

 a shell hammock. Here sang by day and night 

 the tireless mocking-bird, and here the great 

 Carolina wren poured forth a flood of melody. 



Over the walls of the little house, climbing on 

 the stems of the bananas, tangled in every bush 

 and hiding every sharp angle, grew an irrepressible 

 vine. Its deep green arrow-shaped leaves formed 

 an eflfective shade by day, and in the dusk became 

 a background for a blossom so pure in its color 



