"Oh, did you, Don? Were they truly red, or just yellow?"
"No, they were in bloom. They were red."
"Let's go home that way," said Susie, "and get some."
"I wish all the people in New York could know how restful these woods are," said Uncle Robert, breathing a long breath of the sweet, pure air.
"It always seems to me more quiet in the woods on Sunday than on any other day," said Mrs. Leonard.
"Do the birds know when it is Sunday?" asked Susie.
"If they do," said Uncle Robert, "those blue jays must have forgotten."
"Just hear how they scream!" said Frank.
"They must be up to their usual trick," said Mr. Leonard, "of tormenting some other bird."
"Listen!" said Donald. "It's a sparrow hawk they're after. That's the sparrow hawk's cry, but it's a blue jay that made it. They always mimic them when they chase them. I've watched them lots of times."