CROSSBILLS. 16g 
up in the air. They were often so high that I 
could not see them, and one day several flocks 
passed over my head, affording only a glimpse of 
black dots for them all. Their note often came 
from the hemlocks back in the woods, and on 
Thanksgiving morning I had the satisfaction of 
seeing the noisy strangers. 
They had come out in the clearing, and lighted 
near a milk-house, some on a tree and others on 
the ground. I crept up as noiselessly as the crusty 
snow would allow, and, screening myself behind 
another building, watched them for some time. 
They seemed nervous, for every few minutes they 
started up simultaneously with a whirr, flew about 
a few seconds, and then settled down again. 
When they were resting, those that were not 
chattering warbled to themselves in a sweet under- 
tone, but when a new company joined their ranks 
they all began jabbering, and it was a grave ques- 
tion if any of them could hear what they were 
asking, or their neighbors trying to tell. Then as 
they broke up into groups and went wheeling 
about in the air, the glittering gilt deer weather- 
vane on top of a barn a few rods away attracted 
them, and some of them lit on the horns a mo- 
ment in passing. Several squads of them flew 
away, and as the confusion decreased the others 
grew less restless, and twenty or thirty flew down 
under the milk-house door and began picking up 
what they could find on the stones. 
