Charles E. Burchfield (1893-1967)

tree.  Soon I saw him down near the stream where he was at first, and he began hopping along the ground in and among the bushes, with his tail still flopping.

From somewhere up the hollow came “Che-wink - - Che-wink!”.  There was no mistaking this little bird – the Chewink!  Then from a far came the mournful call of a mourning dove. How mysterious and uncanny it sounded; and their always comes from great distances.  As I listened to him I thought of cool summer mornings several years ago, when we would go out berrying and became frightened at this strange sepulchral sound.

It was fun to watch Buster amid all these sounds.  When at times a Flicher sent his long series of short sharp cries and another one answered him with a rattle, he would bristle up his hair and start growling in their direction, and then pause, curiously sniffing the air.  Then a nut-hatch would send his odd cry from out of the hollow, which alarmed Buster more than ever.  Then he would come up to me, jump upon the stump, and sit very close to me!

To the east, the valley looked dark and mysterious, with ghostly white beeches against dark-green pine trees. It looked so