BIRDS IN A VILLAGE. 17 
o'clock, I heard from some quarter of the village 
that curious low but far-reaching scolding note 
he is accustomed to utter when his suspicions have 
been aroused. That was the jay's custom, to come 
from the woods before even the earliest risers were 
up, and forage in the village. By-and-by I dis- 
covered that, by lying motionless for an hour or 
so on the dry moss in the wood, he would at 
length grow so bold as to allow himself to be 
seen, but high up among the topmost branches. 
Then, by means of my powerful binocular, I had 
the wild thing on my thumb, so to speak, exhibit- 
ing himself to me, inquisitive, perplexed, suspicious, 
enraged by turns, as he flirted wings and tail, 
lifted and lowered his crest, glancing down with 
bright, wild eyes. What a beautiful hypocrisy and 
delightful power this is, which enables us, sitting 
or lying motionless, feigning sleep, perhaps, thus 
to fool this wild, elusive creature, and bring all 
its cunning to naught ! He is so much smaller 
and keener sighted, able to fly, to perch far up 
above me, to shift his position every minute or 
two, masking his small figure with this or that 
tuft of leaves, while still keeping his eyes on me 
— in spite of it all, to have him so close, and, with- 
out moving or taking any trouble, to see him so 
much better than he can see me ! But this is a 
legitimate trickery of science, so innocent that we 
c 
