Charles E. Burchfield (1893-1967)

slim greyish bird about the size of a blue bird.

     Going up in the bridge I sat down on some cross-boards in the middle where some boards had fallen off on each side of the bridge, and looked out over the creek.  On each side it extended in a straight line, almost without a ripple or sound; down below me it looked green as it flowed past.  To the north dense little thickets fringed its banks, while on the opposite side there were no trees.  Song sparrow continually sang their little melodies.

     Buster is an awful coward, altho two dogs were against him this time.  When we were coming along the road just before arriving at the bridge two rabbit-hounds came out barking furiously.  When they saw Buster, they paid no attention to me but went growling up to my companion.  Buster paused abruptly.  The two dogs came up and began walking around in circles, in a very dignified manner, becoming to their pedigree.  I don’t know what they said in their dog language, but presently Buster went down into the field looking as tho he wanted to be any place but there and doing his best to get away while his tormentors followed closely growling and barking in a very horrible manner, enough to intimidate any peace-loving