A DECEMBER DAY WITH THE BIRDS. 195 



are, dancing about on the ground, scratching up 

 the leaves in quest of seeds, or else scudding 

 among the bushes, displaying their white lateral 

 tail feathers whenever they take wing. Their 

 toilets of plain brown and white give them a com- 

 fortable appearance, as if they were dressed for 

 warmth and not for show ; while their beaks look 

 like small white pyramids attached to the fore part 

 of their cunning little heads. How dexterous 

 these birds are on the wing ! Sometimes they 

 hurl themselves in their swift, reckless flight so 

 near me that it is only by a deft, timely turn that 

 they miss my head. I have dodged more than 

 once to avoid being struck by them, when they 

 made a dash at me as if they had been shot from a 

 catapult. Really, my dear junco, I prefer not to 

 be the second party to such a collision, as I am not 

 quite sure of its effect upon my rather sensitive scalp. 



All winter long these companionable birds have 

 driven loneliness from the woods by their rapid, 

 tremulous chirping ; and sometimes, toward spring, 

 they break into a tuneless ditty, which answers the 

 purpose of woodland music very well before the 

 brown thrushes and white-throated sparrows arrive 

 from the South. 



Threading my way deeper into the woods, I espy 



