Charles E. Burchfield (1893-1967)

his cherry call. Again we started up both a heron and a skirt-poke. At one stopping place I discovered that even a frog is not without wits. I found him quite a distance from the creek. I strove to catch him. After two or three hops he refused to con­tinue to hop at my merely stirring the grass with my foot. I stamped all around the spot and looked closely - but all in vain I turned away disgusted, but a moment later I heard him hopping and turned to see him jumping joyfully towards the creek. I could not figure out how he escaped getting trampled by me, but decided that he deserved his freedom.

I arrived at camp ahead of the others, and proceeded at once to stretch myself under the big maple tree, flat on my back looking straight up thru the branches to the sky. How too few times do we look up to the sky.  While I was thus engaged I caught sight of a dainty nuthatch glidingdown, the trunk, towards me head downward, peering here and there, alert for insects. He seemed to take no heed of me, and was getting quite close when Jim came up. Noiselessly the bird glided up the