The Jonathan Papers
I whistled the blue-jay note, which means "Come," and Jonathan came threshing through the brush, having left his rod.
"Where are you?" he called; "I can't see you."
"No, you can't," I responded unamiably. "You probably never will see me again, at least not in any recognizable form. Help me out!" The thrush sang again, one tree farther away. "No! First kill that thrush!" I added between set teeth, as a slight motion of mine set the brambles raking again.
"Why, why, my dear, what's this?" Then, as he caught sight of me, "Well! You are tied up! Wait; I'll get out my knife."