As I sat at my semicircular desk before the wide windows in our northwoods cabin, a startling realization dawned on me. I had spring fever ! There was no sense in it, for this was the fall season. Nevertheless the symptoms were unmistakable. About me were piled mounds of papers representing work partly done or waiting to be done. I paid no attention to it, but sat staring idly out over the lake, now sparkling as if strewn with diamonds. In my typewriter was inserted a much neglected sheet of paper on which had been written "Page one"—hours ago, and nothing added to it. I stared past this, too, and watched the flight of an oak leaf as it left a tree and fluttered slowly to earth, hesitating as if it were selecting a comfortable spot in which to spend the winter.

I couldn't blame myself entirely. It was a strange autumn. There were few of the foretastes of cold weather we expect at this season in the north country. Soft breezes designed for May and June brought unseasonable warmth as though Nature had someway skipped winter and by short cut had entered another spring. The carnival of autumn reached its colorful climax amid temperatures that brought new bloom to some summer flowers. The flaring red of maple leaves, the maroon of oaks, the golden yellow of aspens fairly flamed against azure skies. Birds were puzzled too. Migrants forgot their travel plans.

Feathered crooners broke out with serenades designed for mating season. We heard the full song of the whitethroated sparrow, the complete aria of the purple finch, and the murmuring melodies of Brewer's blackbirds and tree sparrows. From high in the blue skies came the cries of ravens and crows, sounding like the laughing of Nature itself at the tricks she was playing with her seasons.

Giny contributed greatly to my malady. She had chosen this hour to bake cookies--the same kind she had made that wonderful day in May when we had returned to our Sanctuary. Their aroma drifted to me, lulling my drowsy senses pleasantly.

Hi-Bub added his part also. He was just outside the cabin door, playing with chipmunks, squirrels, blue jays, nuthatches, chickadees and the many other birds that came to his feet to accept the food he offered them. I listened to his endless chatter, mingled with the happy voices of his wildwood guests.

"Blooey, you're a thwell bird !" said the lad. "Come on, here-th a peanut. No, not you, Th-tubby," he directed a reprimand to our ambitious chipmunk. "Thith one ith for Blooey. Oh—I didn't mean to thcare you. Here-th one for you. Don't bite my finger. That-th no peanut. Quick ! Run ! Here come-th Th-till-Mo. Hurry !"

There was a wild flurry among the feeding creatures as our dynamic red squirrel entered the circle like a whirlwind. Stubby the chipmunk scampered for his underground home. Blue jays rose to the safety of trees. Other birds headed for distant points.

"Now lookut what you do !" cried Hi-Bub, who was always trying to make peace between the conflicting species. "Th-till-Mo, do you have to chaith everything? Couldn't you walk? All right, here-th a peanut—but after thith be nith."

Still-Mo, the old red squirrel who had lived with us for several years, apparently took the peanut and scampered away. Other creatures returned as the disturbing element disappeared from the scene. The feeding went on, and so did Hi-Bub's chatter. It was just the kind of thing that fitted my mood. I could listen in with no effort. It demanded nothing of me.

Hi-Bub was a boyish boy now living at those wonderful years that are a blending of bud and blossom. Childhood was still evident in fat hands, plump cheeks, a delightful lisp and a self-inflammatory imagination. Yet manhood was peering through—in his eyes, his mannerisms, his questions, and in his character.

I fell to thinking about him. It was easy to do, for I love him so much. He is not our son, though he could not mean more to us if he were. His love of Nature had paved the way for our companionship. His home was in a village some miles away where he attended school. Because of his intense interest in our animals and the Sanctuary, his parents "lent" him to us each Saturday and Sunday. I had the conviction that the rest of the week was just a period of waiting for these days in the forest, as far as he was concerned. Right in the midst of this meditation, I was startled by his voice calling me in great excitement.

"Tham Cammel ! Tham Cammel ! Come quick! Come quick !"

I went quickly. There was a quality in his cry that frightened me. I thought at least a tree must have fallen on him. Papers I had so carefully arranged went fluttering to the floor in disorder. Books flew to the far corners of the cabin as I dashed out the front door to cause another scene of wild confusion there.

A score of birds rose with a flurry of wings that blew autumn leaves hither and yon. Stubby and all the other diners raced for points of safety. In a second the feeding station was cleared of its customers, and there sat Hi-Bub looking up at me as calm as you please, not the victim of a tree falling or any other kind of calamity.

"Oh, oh—you thcared 'im !" he exclaimed.

"You mean frightened—frightened is the better word," I said. My spring fever had vanished under the effect of excitement. "What or whom did I frighten?"

"Oh, yeth," agreed the boy, "I forgot. I mean frighten. He wuth here, he wuth right here, and you thcared him."

"Frightened."

"Yeth."

"But, Hi-Bub, tell me, whom did I scare—I mean frighten? I heard you call and I nearly knocked the side out of the cabin to get to you. Now here you are with nothing wrong. What was the matter? Who was here?"

"It wuth him, all right," insisted the boy.

"It was he."

"Yeth, that-th what I thaid, it wuth him."

"He !"

"Yeth."

"All right, let's overlook the grammar—who was here and whom did I scare?"

"It wuth Cheer," said the boy, with enthusiasm. "Cheer wuth right here an' I thaw him !" He pointed with a crooked little finger to a balsam tree very close at hand.

I drew a deep breath and looked at the lad with tolerant amusement. He was such an adept at tall stories of his own concoction it was difficult to know what to believe. Cheer, the red-winged blackbird, had been one of the grand surprises of the summer. The sleek creature had taken to us in a manner that amazed and delighted us. He appeared one day at the feeding station and immediately made himself perfectly at home. From the start he had no fear of us. The first day we saw him he hopped up to my feet and took a bit of crumbled peanut I had placed on the toe of my shoe. From then on each day saw an unfolding of friendship with this lovely bird. In less than a week he was feeding from our hands. His happy call sounded so much like the word "Cheer" that we gave him that name.

"But, Hi-Bub," I said, always hoping to develop in our young friend that accuracy of thought and statement so vital to good nature study, "Cheer has been gone a long time. Remember, I told you he flew away with a flock of his own kind? He has gone a long distance by now. I feel sure you didn't see him."

"Why, Tham Cammel." There was a bit of reprimand in the lad's voice. "I thaw'im. He wuth right here. You thcared 'im."

"Frightened."

"Yeth."

I saw I couldn't argue him out of it. He believed he had seen Cheer. Perhaps it was one of the other blackbirds, I thought. Perhaps it was a shadow. At any rate it wasn't important, so I returned to the cabin to clean up the mess of papers, requesting Hi-Bub to let me know if he saw the famous redwing again.

"I'll call if he come-th," he said.

"Well—not the way you did before," I cautioned. "Just whisper this time."

"Tho I don't thcare 'im."

"Frighten."

"Yeth."

I returned in search of my spring fever. It wasn't hard to find. The sun streamed through trees largely shorn of their leaves. The breeze bore a sweet savor born of balsam and basswood trees. I fingered the papers, hoping to get down to work, but just about as aimlessly as before, when suddenly I heard a call that is difficult to describe. If a punctured automobile tire were able to attempt my name with its last escaping breath, the sound would be somewhat similar.

"Tham Cammel !" came the exaggerated whisper from outside the front door. "Tham Cammel!"

The call was meant for me, but it affected the entire community. Giny heard it and came in from her cookie baking. Birds, chipmunks and squirrels heard it too, and once more departed for distant points. I went to the door to find Hi-Bub coughing from his efforts at a superwhisper.

"I thcared 'im," he said, and cleared his throat. "He wuth here and I thcared 'im."

I evaded grammatical comment.

"Are you sure you saw a red-winged blackbird?" I asked.

"Or was it just a 'maginary?" put in Giny, offering Hi-Bub a way out.

"It wuth Cheer!" he said emphatically. "He wuth here." He indicated the same balsam as before. Hi-Bub seemed a bit hurt at our doubts. It was not wise to question him further.

"Well, I'll tell you what to do," I said. "If he comes again, don't call or whisper—sing. Keep your voice low and even, and we will hear you. If Cheer is here, we've given him a bad reception."

All right, agreed Hi-Bub, he would sing. And it wasn't long before he did. His unending talk to the various creatures who now came back took on the character of a chant. One moment I heard him trying to settle differences among his customers; the next there was a drone that bore some similarity to "America the Beautiful."

"Oh, Tham Cammel, he'th here—Tham Cammel, he'th here-he'th in thith little tree. Tham Cammel, he'th here—Tham Cammel, he'th here—he'th comin' up to my hand. Hello, Cheer, hello, Cheer—now don't be thcared oh, I mean frightened...."

Giny and I had tiptoed to the door. There on the ground, at the finger tips of Hi-Bub's proffered hand stood the beautiful bird that had given us so much joy in weeks past. He was taking bits of grain and peanuts. Even as we watched, breathless in our joy, the creature puffed up in blackbird style and uttered his happy "Cheer, Cheer."

Restraining our impulse to rush to him, we advanced slowly from the door, talking to him in the calmest voices we could muster. His confidence was restored by this more quiet reception, and the bird gave evidence of his own joy at the reunion. He flew to a branch in a white pine, a perch that had been his favorite during the summer. Here he went through his routine of cute little movements that definitely resembled a dance. He strutted back and forth, bending his beak close to his feet as if watching each step. Then he spread his wings, to reveal fully the beauty of his brilliant coloring. He called his squeaky "Cheer, Cheer," and added to it the mating song often described as "Congare-e-e-e-e-e."

I do not want to draw comparisons between the many wild creatures that have given us their friendship at our northwoods Sanctuary. Each one has his peculiar charm and appeal. There was Inky the porcupine, so homely and awkward, yet so full of devotion and loyalty to us that his name became a symbol of friendship. There were the two porcupines we named Salt and Pepper, and surely their friendship left us forever in their debt. Halitosis, our friendly skunk, gave us a companionship of sweeter savor than the reputation of his kind would suggest. The bears, raccoons, woodchucks, deer and other creatures that responded to our kindness all carved a special place in our hearts. Cheer was but one more in the long list. He made his own niche in our affections. He was what his name suggested—a messenger of the sheer joy of life.

"Why do you suppose he has come back?" Giny was asking. "There are no others of his kind left, and winter is almost here. What would make him return at this late day?"

"Why, Mithuth Cammel, don't you know?" asked Hi-Bub in surprise.

"Well-I'm not sure."

Hi-Bub swallowed hard, and then looked up, giving in his answer the cause of all things good and worth while in life. "Why," he said, his eyes widening, "why—he love-th you !"

The next morning Cheer was at our bedroom window in the first gray light of dawn. He called Hi-Bub, too, out in the small cabin which had been assigned to our boy guest as his very own. There was no more time for spring fever, even though the warm autumn weather persisted not with that little feathered bundle of good cheer around. We composed a poem to Cheer that day, which ran as follows

Fly above your troubles,

They are only bubbles.

Cheer, cheer, cheer.

There's a strength to gladness

That will conquer sadness.

Cheer, cheer, cheer.

Let your heart keep singing,

Let your faith keep winging,

Into Life keep bringing

Cheer, cheer, cheer.

However, I liked best Hi-Bub's remark as this week end came to a close and he was about to leave for home. He looked down at the blackbird who was then at his very feet. The boy's eyes glowed and he seemed to smile from head to toes as he said simply, "You're a thwell bird, Cheer !"

IT WAS Saturday morning and I had no need of consulting a calendar to convince me of this fact. Life in the forest has made me somewhat careless with the names of days. When I have dwelt for a period in the realm of plants, animals, landscapes and nature, I get the Mondays, Tuesdays, Wednesdays and such things rather badly mixed.

But Saturday had its unmistakable marks of distinction at the Sanctuary that autumn. Dawn had advanced but little when out in the misty distance across our lake we heard the squeak of an oarlock. We knew the sound very well for we had heard it often before—on Saturdays. HiBub was coming! At the end of the road a boat had been left for his convenience, for our cabin is on an island. His patient, devoted father rose early to bring his little budding naturalist to us for this all-important, regular week-end visit.

"Hello-o-o-o-o, Tham Cammel!" called the expected boyish voice across the still waters.

"Hello-o-o-o-o, Hi-Bub," Giny and I called back in unison as we went to meet the boat.

"Thith ith Thaturday, do you know ut?" he called, his voice breaking under the difficulty of lisping and shouting at the same time.

"What, Hi-Bub-what did you say?" I asked, just wanting to hear him lisp again.

"Thith ith Thaturday—Thaturday! Here I come!"

He sounded as if he wouldn't even wait for the boat. "Come on, Hi-Bub," called Giny. "We're waiting for you and we have lots to do. Hurry! Hurry!"

"Daddy," we heard him say in lower voice, "can't you go fathter?"

"Take it easy, son," came the deep voice of the father. "That island won't get away from you. Careful--don't fall overboard."

The oars dipped and dipped, and the oarlock squeaked until finally they reached our shore.

"Thought he would never get through this week," commented the daddy as he guided the boat to the landing. "It seems that there's some bird out here by the name of Cheer who will never get anything to eat or drink unless a certain boy gives it to him."

"Ith he here, Tham Cammel?" broke in Hi-Bub, stumbling, crawling and scrambling his way ashore. "Ith he here? Ith Cheer here? Ith…"

"Yes, yes, Hi-Bub—he is here," laughed Giny. "He's been at the feeding station every day, and I’m sure he has been looking for you."

"Oh boy, oh boy, oh boy!" exclaimed the excited youngster. "Lookut ! Lookut what I got." He held up a well filled paper bag. "It-th cooky crumbth for Cheer. Mom thaid I could bring 'em."

"Yes," commented his daddy, with a wink and a smile. "Mom said he could bring the crumbs from the cookie jar. I never knew cookies had so many crumbs. I think maybe some very sound cookies were crushed up into crumbs just so that bag would be full."

"Such things happen when boy meets bird," I agreed, studying the beaming Hi-Bub accusingly. "But how about some breakfast?"

"Thanks—but we ate while it was still dark." The father handed a little overnight bag to us. "Now that I have the all-important job done I must go to my work. Good-by, you little rascal," he added to Hi-Bub, and brought his huge fist menacingly against the boy's chin. "Remember what your mother told you. I'll pick you up tomorrow afternoon and take you home."

"Until another Thaturday—huh?" put in Hi-Bub, working far ahead.

"O.K.—unless the Campbells get tired of you. Now good-by and have fun."

"Oh, Tham Cammel duthn't get tired," insisted Hi-Bub quickly. "You thee, he can retht all week after I'm gone."

"I expect it takes just that," said the daddy, though Hi-Bub missed the significance of the remark.

The animals of our Sanctuary soon knew it was Saturday too. News does get around among these forest folk.

Cheer came up in his merriest mood. The cookie crumbs went over in a big way. We heard Hi-Bub's soft laugh mingled with the joyous twittering and calling of the redwing. Chipmunks, squirrels and birds of many varieties gathered about the happy lad until he was the center of what resembled a three-ringed circus concentrated into one.

To Hi-Bub these creatures were people. He talked to them just as he did to us, fully believing that he was understood. Confidentially he told Stubby the chipmunk of little problems in school. Cheer was informed that "Daddy got me a new pair of shoeth." Apparently he received answers beyond the reach of my ears. "Where wuth you, Cheer, when you wuth gone tho long?" I heard him ask as the redwing ate crumbs from his hand. "Oh, wuth you?" he added after receiving some silent reply. "Did you have fun?" Obviously Cheer had fun wherever he went and whatever he did, for Hi-Bub closed this conversation with "Well, well–that-th nith. I'm glad."

We knew Hi-Bub first in a large city many miles away. When we met him there at a school, he was already familiar with many of our friendly animals through the stories his parents had read to him from my books.

"Hard to believe that is the same tyke we saw living back among those tall buildings and hard-paved streets," Giny said as we watched him through the window. "He takes to the woods as naturally as the animals themselves."

Later in the day I managed to listen in on a conversation between Hi-Bub and. Still-Mo the red squirrel. Outside the cabin an unaccustomed silence reigned, and I went searching for the cause of it. I discovered Hi-Bub sitting on the ground, looking up at Still-Mo who was perched on a stump. Probably the squirrel was quite fatigued from the hectic Saturday activities and needed a bit of rest. Hi-Bub was talking and I didn't count it eavesdropping to stand within hearing distance.

"I wuth thcolded yethterday, Th-till-Mo," said the little lad meditatively.

Still-Mo stared straight ahead.

"I wuth bad, I gueth," went on the boy. "But I didn't mean to be."

The squirrel remained silent.

"You thee, I wuth helpin' Mother," Hi-Bub explained with extreme seriousness. "I wuth helpin' to bring Daddy thome pumpkin pie at dinner. I like pumpkin pie. Do you like pumpkin pie, Th-till-Mo?" There was a moment's pause, and then the boy added, "Uh-huh, I thought you did. Well, Mother cut the pie in the kitchen," he went on, moving a bit closer to his diminutive audience. Then in utmost confidence of the animal's interest and understanding, Hi-Bub told the stoical Still-Mo how there had been three pieces of pie on as many plates. His job was to transport this dessert into the dining room. Parental instructions were that he should take one plate at a time, as that was enough for a boy his size to handle properly. HiBub was seized with the idea of efficiency. Hence he came prancing through the dining-room door with a portion of pie in each hand.

His daddy looked up horrified, though Still-Mo was told that "Daddy wuth thcared."

"Look out, son," the father had exclaimed. "In your left hand-that piece is slipping off the plate !" Hi-Bub looked. Sure enough the plate in the left hand was sloping and the pie creeping toward calamity. Hastily he leveled the plate, but he only transferred the spot of disaster. The plate in his right hand now dipped to a dangerous angle. The piece of pie it contained, obedient to the law of gravity and unmindful of the cries of mother and father, slid off the plate and landed upside down on the floor to the tune of an impressive plop.

"An' what do you think, Th-till-Mo?" the boy continued, while the squirrel scratched violently at some unexplained itch. "When I looked to see what had happened, the other pieth of pie went plop on the floor too."

Hi-Bub looked rather sadly at the ground, recalling details of the disaster, while Still-Mo eyed a chipmunk that passed near by, likely wishing such things had never been created.

"It wuth an awful meth, Th-till-Mo," Hi-Bub went on. "I wuth thcolded becauth I didn't mind."

Still-Mo had been quiet long enough, however. Uttering a little chirp, she now ran away on some errand of her own. Perhaps she left for the same purpose I did—so I could find a secluded spot in which to indulge the laugh I didn't want Hi-Bub to hear.

Our lad was ready for bed early this Saturday evening. It had been a wonderful day, and he had squeezed from it every drop of experience possible. Now he was tired. Giny and I took him to his cabin and tucked him in. The forest night, filled with mystery and miracle, reigned. For a few minutes there was a great tug of war going on in Hi-Bub's thoughts. Sleep was calling him. Yet there were other voices too. We heard our raccoons, Rack, Ruin and Racket, come to get the food we had placed outside for them. We had to lift Hi-Bub from his bed and hold him up to look through a window at these lovely nocturnal creatures, centered in a spotlight. Then there was another sound that banished the idea of sleep temporarily, and caused the 'coons to lift their heads in alertness. From deep in the forest came the high-pitched cries of coyotes.

"O-o-o-o-o," said Hi-Bub. He was a little apprehensive in spite of himself.

"Remember what we have told you, Hi-Bub," said Giny as we took him back to his bed. "There is nothing in all the woods that will hurt you."

"Yeth, I know," agreed the boy. "I wuth wonderin' if they like cookie crumbth."

"Listen !" I cautioned. "There's another voice. Do you recognize it?"

We all identified the deep mournful cry of a great timber wolf. It gladdened our hearts to hear it. These creatures, so little understood by mankind, have been disappearing from the north country. Rarely now is their weird calls heard, though it is needed to complete the symphony of the wilderness.

"He thingth nith," said Hi-Bub. "Could we thee him thometime?"

It wasn't likely that we would. Through the autumn we had been thrilled by his occasional call, always coming from the same point out in the night. But to see such a creature is an adventure not to be anticipated, for he is the shyest of the shy.

We had named our unseen friend "Mephistopheles" because of his enticing bass voice. Poor Hi-Bub once started into that word and nearly choked before he got out at the other end. Hence we shortened it to "Meph" and even that is tough enough for a fellow who lisps.

There was silence now, and Giny and I looked down at Hi-Bub as his eyes tried to close.

"Tham Cammel," he said from somewhere on the border of dreamland.

"Yes, Hi-Bub?"

"Ith Cheer going to fly away thoon?"

"Why, yes, old top—I expect Cheer will fly south any time now," I replied. "He couldn't live here in the winter, you know. He will fly to join his brothers and sisters. You see, he just stayed to play with you. All the other blackbirds left long ago. Isn't he nice to stay?"

Yes, Cheer was nice to do that. There were more questions, however, coming from a mind that obviously had been dwelling on the subject.

"Will Th-tubby and Beggar Boy go away?"

"No, they do not go away. They will go down in those holes in the ground you have seen them enter. There they've stored the peanuts you gave them, along with seeds, acorns, grain and such things for winter food. They will sleep till spring, just the way woodchucks do."

"Will Racket go 'way?" he persisted.

"No, the pretty raccoon will live back in the woods somewhere in a hollow tree. She sleeps most of the winter, but awakens occasionally to eat."

"Will Th-till-Mo go 'way?"

"No, Still-Mo will stay right here. She will eat the food you have given her, and she doesn't sleep like the raccoon."

Hi-Bub was very quiet. His big eyes avoided mine and looked at the ceiling of the cabin. Something was making him serious to the point of being heavy.

"Tham Cammel," he said again. "Yes, Hi-Bub."

"Are you and Mithuth Cammel going 'way?"

There was the catch, and I had felt it. We had all been avoiding this subject. Now it was coming out. I squeezed Hi-Bub's hands in mine. "Yes, my little man, my fine naturalist—we are going away. In a short time we will pack up and leave. We must be gone all winter. You..."

I hesitated. His lower lip was trembling.

"Why, Hi-Bub, you aren't going to feel that way, are you? Giny and I have to go."

"Why?" He had no breath to say more.

"Because we must give lectures to lots of audiences. We want to show them pictures of our animals and tell them how beautiful it is here. You want us to do that, don't you?"

Hi-Bub wasn't so sure, and he said so with silence.

"You remember, don't you, Hi-Bub, when we came to your school in the big city?" I went on. "You remember how happy it made you to see the pictures. Don't you think we should try to make others happy that way too?"

There was a slight nod of the head accompanied by a sniff, while one tear got away and crept down his cheek. It is hard to know what to do or say at a time like that, especially when there were tears of my own so close to the surface that if I said the wrong thing I would release them.

"Hi-Bub," I said, after a trying interval. "Yeth, Tham Cammel."

"What do you suppose our red-winged blackbird will say when he starts away on his long journey? He doesn't want to go either. He has stayed a long time to prove that. But he will go someday, and what do you think he will say?"

There was a moment's hesitation while several sniffs adjusted some feelings and a plump little hand rubbed away overanxious tears. Finally his heroic attempt at a smile succeeded, and he said strongly, "Cheer ! Cheer ! Cheer !"