OUR WINTER BIRDS. 109 
on this fence-rail is the track of a squirrel, and in the cor- 
ner of the rail and rider is the half-eaten body of a chicka- 
dee which some butcher-bird has hung up. How the dry 
wood ereaks as I climb over, and how resonant is that dead 
ash under the vigorous hammer of the little woodpecker 
SNOW-BUNTING. 
whose red crest glows like a spark of fire against the white 
limb! Around this spice-bush the mice have been at work, 
nibbling the bark off up to the surface of the snow, and we 
can see the entrance to their tunnel. This path, trod bare 
by the cows, leads to the hilly brush-pasture where the 
southern sun shines all the afternoon, and thither let me 
follow. 
