THE BIRDS’ CHRISTMAS TREE 247 
Goldfinch were both clinging to the same sunflower head, 
and a little Downy Woodpecker had discovered one of 
the bones fastened to a branch and was revelling, ‘‘up to 
his neck,” as Sarah expressed it, in the marrow. 
Underneath the tree a place had been cleared for the 
gifts Gray Lady had in store for what she called “the 
featherless two-legged birds of the Kind Hearts’ Club.” 
After they had rested a few minutes, and were thoroughly 
warmed, Gray Lady, Rose Wilde, Goldilocks, and Sarah 
Barnes set out for a stroll through the orchard, and the 
lane that ran back of it, up to the farm-barns, to see what 
feathered guests were in the neighbourhood, the walk 
taking them past a great pile of unhewn wood and a tent- 
shaped brush-heap at the end of the lane. 
Gray Lady used her opera-glasses, but the others trusted 
totheireyes alone. These are the birds they saw and named 
easily: A flock of Goldfinches in their dull winter coats 
feeding on weed seeds in the lane; their old friends the 
Chickadees, three Blue Jays, two Flickers, and several 
Downy Woodpeckers; Gray Lady thought possibly from 
their markings, a whole Downy family,— Mr., Mrs.,and four 
children. 
As they neared the woodpile Goldilocks stopped, her 
hand on Gray Lady’s sleeve and a finger raised in caution. 
“T do believe there is a Jenny Wren that has not gone 
away or is lost, it is such a little bit of a thing.” 
As they stood looking, the little, neat, brown bird, about 
four inches long, ran up and down among the logs like a 
mouse, then flew with a little short flapping of the wings 
to the bush, where it clung to a spray, bobbing to and fro, 
its comical bit of a tail pointing as close to its head as 
