THE DEAD TREE'S DAY . 
97 
song was welcome, for I had counted upon his 
arousing me early in order that I might spend 
an entire day with the Dead Tree. 
On the northern shore of Chocorua Lake a 
broad reach of swampy woodland is broken by 
a meadow. At the point where the small and 
very cool brook which bounds the meadow on 
the west enters the lake, a tall pine once cast 
its shadow upon a deep pool at its foot. The 
pine died many years ago, and its bark has 
been entirely removed by weather and wood¬ 
peckers, leaving its trunk and eighty-seven 
branches, or stumps of branches, as white as 
bleached bones. A few rods farther from the 
mouth of the brook stands a smaller pine of 
similar character. These two trees form a 
famous bird roost, and at their feet I planned 
to stay from sunrise to sunset on this August 
day, in order to see, during consecutive hours, 
how many birds would make use of the tree as 
a perch. From frequent visits during this and 
earlier years, I knew that the tree was not only 
a rendezvous for the birds living in the meadow 
and adjoining woods, but also a kursaal for 
tourists in feathers, and for all birds coming to 
the lake to hunt or to fish. 
As I left the house, hermit thrushes were 
uttering the short complaining notes of alarm 
characteristic of them at twilight. Dark as it 
