THE GREAT CARAVAN ROUTE. 



YOU remember that the old Grouse boasted that 

 he kept warm and well fed even when the ground 

 was frozen and covered with snow. If you were to 

 walk through his woods in January, you would find 

 tracks in the snow, and at last he would start up from 

 under the bushes ahead of you, with a whirr that 

 would frighten you the first time you heard it. And 

 when he had flown off, how silent the woods would 

 be ! You might walk for miles and meet less than 

 half a dozen birds. 



In spring the edges of the woods and the fields 

 near by would ring with bird music, but now a few 

 lisping notes from the Kinglets and Chickadees, the 

 scream of a Blue Jay, or the caw of a Crow would be 

 the only sounds made by birds. 



Not quite the only ones, after all, for the little 

 Downy Woodpecker pays his visits to the grubs at 

 all seasons, and wakes them from their winter sleep 

 by knocking politely at their doors. 



Where have the birds gone ? Where is the Oven- 

 bird, and the Tanager? Where are the thrushes 

 and the vireos ? 



It is easy to tell you where they are, but much 

 harder to say how they got there. If you wished to 



