Old Rough-leg still keeps up his watch. Every little while you can see him launch out from the great poplar and circle above the Meadows as if perchance Bobolink might be hiding among the reeds. But his search is vain. Often, however, he sees the brown stranger, whom folks have since named Reed Bird, but as he sails back to his favorite perch, he vainly wonders what has become of Bobolink in his beautiful coat of black and white. Perhaps he would wonder still more if he knew that, although they pass to and fro with each year’s migration, Bobolink and Reed Bird have never met. Couldn’t the reader explain something of this to old Rough-leg? * * * * * “The good are better made by ill, As odors crushed are sweeter still.” --_Rogers._ A DAUGHTER OF THE FOREST By Evelyn Raymond CHAPTER VII A Woodland Menagerie SYNOPSIS OF PREVIOUS CHAPTERS Brought up in the forests of northern Maine, and seeing few persons excepting her uncle and Angelique, the Indian housekeeper, Margot Romeyn knows little of life beyond the deep hemlocks. Naturally observant, she is encouraged in her out-of-door studies by her uncle, at one time a college professor. Through her woodland instincts, she and her uncle are enabled to save the life of Adrian Wadislaw, a youth who, lost and almost overcome with hunger, has been wandering in the neighboring forest. To Margot the new friend is a welcome addition to her small circle of acquaintances, and after his rapid recovery she takes great delight in showing him the many wonders of the forest about her home. * * * * * “Hoo-ah! Yo-ho! H-e-r-e! This way!” Adrian followed the voice. It led him aside into the woods on the eastern slope, and it was accompanied by an indescribable babel of noises. Running water, screaming of wild fowl, cooing of pigeons, barking of dogs or some other beasts, cackling, chattering, laughter. All the sounds of wild life ceased suddenly in the tree-tops as Adrian approached, recognizing and fearing his alien presence. But they were reassured by Margot’s familiar summons, and soon the menagerie he had suspected was gathered about her. “Whew! it just rains squirrels--and chipmunks--and birds! Hello! that’s a fawn; that’s a fox! as sure as I’m alive, a magnificent red fox! Why isn’t he eating the whole outfit? And--hurrah!” To the amazement of the watcher, there came from the depths of the woods a sound that always thrills the pulses of any hunter--the cry of a moose-calf, accompanied by a soft crashing of branches, growing gradually louder. “So they tame even the moose--these wonderful people! What next!” and as Adrian leaned forward the better to watch the advance of this uncommon pet, the next concerning which he had speculated also approached. Slowly up the river bank stalked a pair of blue herons, and for them Margot had her warmest welcome.