distrustful and cautious at first, for I could not help thinking
about it. When we consider how much of their life is passed in
the woods, which become as familiar to them as the streets of our
native town to us, it seems almost incredible that these savages
have a superstitious fear of all forests, fearing them as much,
even in the bright light of day, as a nervous child with memory
filled with ghost-stories fears a dark room. But, like the child
in the dark room, they fear the forest only when alone in it, and
for this reason always hunt in couples or parties. What, then,
prevented them from visiting this particular wood, which offered
so tempting a harvest? The question troubled me not a little; at
the same time I was ashamed of the feeling, and fought against
it; and in the end I made my way to the same sequestered spot
where I had rested so long on my previous visit.

In this place I witnessed a new thing and had a strange
experience. Sitting on the ground in the shade of a large tree,
I began to hear a confused noise as of a coming tempest of wind
mixed with shrill calls and cries. Nearer and nearer it came,
and at last a multitude of birds of many kinds, but mostly small,
appeared in sight swarming through the trees, some running on the
trunks and larger branches, others flitting through the foliage,
and many keeping on the wing, now hovering and now darting this
way or that. They were all busily searching for and pursuing the
insects, moving on at the same time, and in a very few minutes
they had finished examining the trees near me and were gone; but
not satisfied with what I had witnessed, I jumped up and rushed
after the flock to keep it in sight. All my caution and all
recollection of what the Indians had said was now forgot, so
great was my interest in this bird-army; but as they moved on