28 OUT WITH THE BIRDS 



a little and climb a high point of the scrubby- 

 sand-hills to get a view of the prairie stretching 

 off below. Bleak, uninteresting, God-forsaken, 

 some would call it ; but not those who know the 

 plainland. The broad expanse of whiteness, fad- 

 ing off into the horizon to the southward, marked 

 the lake, still ice-bound; westward from it, and 

 glimmering through a haze, lay a far-off range 

 of sand-hills; in the foreground was spread out 

 a map of farms, with cozy buildings rising here 

 and there; — all making a composition, grand 

 but somber, a print of low tones — the dull grays, 

 cool browns, faint blues — one that is not com- 

 prehended at a glance, nor seen at all by a 

 careless eye. 



Very little water was lying on the prairie now, 

 except in the regular pond-holes ; and the cross- 

 country tramping was a pleasure. Not all of the 

 spring things were back to give greeting; yet 

 the place was athrob with life. Meadow lark 

 ditties drifted up from every quarter; a gray- 

 clad marsh hawk and his big brown wife went 

 beating over the grass and weed patches ; a black, 

 rough-legged cousin wheeled slowly aloft, ever 

 northward; a little, red sparrow hawk bobbed 

 his head from the top of a post; a pair of kill- 



