to rain gently and Bill settled on his favorite 
fence post near the cabin. When heavy storms 
came the old buzzard usually arose hundreds of 
feet in the air and soared above the storm clouds 
until the gale was over; but this seemed to be 
such a little rain that it appeared not worth 
while to go to a great amount of trouble to avoid 
it. So he settled his head well down in his long 
neck feathers and let it rain. It was a very 
cold morning for that part of the country and 
the rain soon turned to sleet, with the result 
that an hour later when Bill tried to fly he found 
his wings well coated with ice, and many of the 
feathers so frozen together that almost at once 
he fell to the ground. Perhaps he had had 
similar experiences before and knew what to 
do; in any event, he pecked away at the ice on 
his wings for a time until by a desperate effort 
he was able to fly up on the cabin. Then he 
walked along until he came to the old stick 
and clay chimney and, flopping up on the top 
of it, deliberately took his stand. He spread 
out his wings and the heat coming up from 
Aunt Celia’s fireplace soon melted the sleet, 
110 
