FEATHERED PHILOSOPHERS 95 



spruces with his paw raised and tail 

 rigid. Was it midwinter? Ah! the 

 dog had found augurs to answer that 

 question. Perched in the spruces were 

 a score of sturdy male robins, not the 

 gaunt resident birds who had fasted and 

 battled with the rigours of winter, but 

 the plump scouts of the coming spring, 

 with the alert, well-fed air of migrants. 

 The gray sky and white earth may 

 cling to the winter curtain, but the 

 bird heart beating warm leads us to 

 March in the calendar; and when the 

 snow-cloud divided, I could see that the 

 sun was hurrying toward the vernal 

 equinox, and I knew that the snow 

 buntings would soon hasten northward 

 after the white owls. 



Again the sky was gray and the 

 woods were choked and matted with 

 brown leaves, the storm-stirred brook 

 was brown, and the grass also. Was it 



