My abiding-place at the time my story begins differed materially from the picturesque ""small gray house facing the morning light,"" being a modern structure which offered the rare combination of a comfortable home in the edge of an undisturbed forest, completely secluded from roads and their traffic, yet within two minutes' reach of the common way to the village. The outlook from my window was into the tops of tall spruces and firs, relieved here and there by a pine, a birch, or a maple. Through a vista, and over the tops of more distant trees, could be seen the broad Atlantic Ocean, and above all ""The blue arch of sky Where clouds go sailing by."" The feathered neighbors had evidently accepted the house as a part of the woods, for they came freely about, delighting especially in a worn and battered old spruce within fifteen feet of the window. On this tree, - which doubtless furnished a choice assortment of bird dainties, - first or last, appeared all the birds of the vicinity.