Late at night in Maine the Loons would make their mornful sound and my grandfather would tell me that it wasn’t Loons, but a little girl he once knew, named Snotgrass. He told me that the school children were mean to poor little Snotgrass because her name was so strange. Everyone made fun of her. They say she ran into the woods crying and got lost. She wanders the Maine woods alone and sad. Her hair is long and full of twigs and mud, it covers her whole body. She is friends with the Swamp Boggers and Philly Lou Birds, and she even knows where to find a Side Hill Gouger when needed.
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