These rag folks are awful stupids, anyhow. I call 'em "blunderers." Do more harm than good wherever they're at. My wife knits our house among thorns just to plague 'em. They hate to get their rags torn. Then they'd better keep scarce of our door. If it ain't in blackberry jungles it's in catbrier tangles. I could yarn from sun-up to sundown 'bout how rag folks come blunderin' round interferin'. Barrin' o cat's, they've got the most meddlesome forefeet I ever saw. But it ain't often they find us. Cause why? We keep still. Our next-door neighbor's Dame Indigo. Can't a body go by she don't pop up scoldin' like a house afire. Then they blunder round till they find her nest-eggs, too! Lots of other feather-heads just like her! There's Topknot Cardnal makes such a fuss anybody'd know he's got something to hide. Sure enough, he's had such lots of kin behind the bars it makes him scary. But I'd show more pluck, anyhow. Once this summer a blunderer smarter'n common came along by us. We had a nice place, too, in a dreadful blackberry tangle. A small sassafras threw a nice shadow over it when the sun got hot. Well, I shut up quick, I tell you. Was just tellin' Mrs. Chat a few things while she kep' an eye on our four eggs like. We kep' still as mice. But didn't that blunderin' rags march right up to our door and push and scratch till she saw what we had? Had a little rag blunderer with her. An' she held her up to look in, too. Every single feather we had stood on end! It was good riddance when they went along. Couldn't believe my specs when I saw they had left our eggs alone. Seven suns after, big rags came back. We're in a peck o' trouble. Our four bairns just out the shell. We both had to scratch round with all our toes to feed and keep 'em breathin'. Been rainin' for a solid week. Dame Chat said she just knew they'd get a chill and die. But the blunderin' party didn't stay long.