ere, and
acres were carpeted with lovely, soft, gray-colored moss, into which
one's foot sank as into the richest product of the loom. Here and there
was a close grove of young pines, whose cool, dim depths were most
alluring on hot days; and indeed in every spot in Maine not fully
occupied nature is sure to set a pine-tree.

Every morning, on entering this garden of delights, I hastened across an
open space by the gate, and plunged into a thicket of alders sprinkled
with young trees,--birch, elm, and wild cherry. Through this ran a path,
and in a sheltered nook under a low pine I found a seat, where for many
days I spent the forenoon, making acquaintance with the pretty little
yellow-throats.

[Sidenote: _BEWITCHING WAYS._]

From the first the head of the family adopted me as his particular
charge, and I am positive he never lost sight of me for one minute. His
was a charming surveillance. He did not, like the robin on similar duty,
stand on some conspicuous perch like a statue of horror or dismay,
uttering his loudest "peep! peep!" in warning to the whole feathered
world; nor did he, after the fashion of the song sparrow, fill the air
with distressed "pips" that seemed to hint of mischief dire; neither did
he, as does the red squirrel, resent an intrusion into preserves that he
considered his own, with a maddening series of choking cries, coughs,
and "snickers," till one was almost ready to turn a gun upon him; still
less did he, in veery style, utter wails so despairing that one felt
herself a monster for remaining. The yellow-throat's guardianship was a
pleasure. He remained in sight, not fifteen feet away from me, and did
not flinch from the terrible field-glass. Sometimes he stood quite
still, uttering his soft and inoffensive "chic;" again he scrambled
about in the bushes, collected a mouthful, and disappeared for a
moment,--a constant baby call from the bushes reminding him of his duty
as provider. Evidently he had succeeded in impressing upon that
obstinate offspring of his that he must keep out of sight. I wonder what
sort of a bugaboo he made me out to be?

Much of the time the tiny custodian passed away in calling and singing,
throwing his head up or holding it still according as he sang loud or
low. To all varieties of his pretty little melody he treated me. Never
once did he utter the notes given in the books as the family song. From
his beak I never heard either "wichita," "witches here," "o-wee-chee,