proverb, "There are no birds in last year's nest?" I made a cautious step 

 or two, and the mystery was explained. A piercing little black eye, with a 

 world of fright in its narrow compass, was peering at me from above the 

 edge of the nest. Then there was more rustling, and I caught a glimpse of 

 something as it flashed down the stem of the hazel-bush. Then there was 

 disappearance and quiet. It was a mouse, of course. He had taken posses- 

 sion of the catbird's summer home for a winter residence. There was too 

 strong a temptation to resist to pry into the housekeeping of Master Mouse. 

 He had "bulged up" the inner bark lining of the structure a little, and 

 beneath this he placed his store of provender, which consisted of corn and 

 hazelnuts. There was no corn-field within fifty rods, and this diminutive 

 four-footed "beastie" must have made many a weary journey for his corn 

 supply. The hazelnuts were close at hand and in abundance. 



It is hard work to get away from a jay. Even though he be at a dis- 

 tance, his voice is a constant reminder that he is on earth. I have said that 

 the jay is essentially a thief — now for proof positive. A pair of these steel- 

 blue coated creatures had been watching my operations on the catbird's nest 

 with apparent interest, though I had given them little attention, because of 

 the greater matter in hand. I had walked away from the thorn bush to a 

 distance of about fifty yards, when a jay call that had something of jubila- 

 tion in it caused me to turn. The two birds were engaged in rifling the 

 mouse's larder. I was conscience-stricken at being the cause of the loss of 

 food, so I drove the birds away. I found that they had secured already a 

 large share of the supply, and I have little doubt that they returned later to 

 complete the robbery. 



A little log hut, built after the fashion of fifty years ago, stands at a 

 corner of Hamilton's Woods, upon what was intended for a town lot. The 

 path leads away from the highway at this point and strikes down straight 

 toward the Skokie. A pair of downy woodpeckers flew over the path, and 

 began playing hide-and-seek around the bole of an oak. The downy wood- 

 pecker is everlastingly cheerful. Whenever there is a lireak in the interest 

 of a winter morning's walk, he is certain to appear and do what he can to 

 enliven the occasion. This morning he did more. One of the pair went to 

 the top of a tree, and wiiilc my eye was following his course along the 

 branch there came within the range of vision ten great birds far up in the 

 sky and flying westward. They were wild geese. There was the gander 

 leader, and trailing along forming the V-shaped wedge were the followers. 

 I blesscfl the downy for calling my attention to the geese. It was the mid- 

 dle of January; the thermometer was close to zero, and yet here was a flock 

 of geese in northern Illinois. Thr birds wore heading for the swamp. Wiiat 

 two months before had been a stream in the center of the marsh was now a 

 long, glistening ice ribbon, with here and there, as it were, a white knot 

 tied, where the rushes parted a little to the right and left. The ten geese 



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