116 IN BIRD LAND. 
X, 
WHERE BIRDS (ROOST. 
NE winter evening found me tramping through 
a swamp not far from my home, listening 
to the dulcet trills of the song-sparrows, which had 
recently returned from a brief visit to a more south- 
ern latitude. There was no snow on the ground, 
and the day had been pleasant; but, as evening 
approached, the west wind blew raw across the 
fields. For some reason which I cannot now re- 
call, an impulse seized me to clamber over the 
fence into the adjacent meadow, where I stalked 
about somewhat aimlessly for a minute or two, little 
thinking that I was on the eve of a discovery, — one 
that was destined to lead me into a delightful field 
of investigation. 
The ground was rather soggy, but a pair of tall 
rubber boots make one indifferent to mire and 
mud. The dusk was now gathering rapidly, and 
it was time for most birds to go to bed. I soon 
found, too, that they were going to bed, and, more- 
over, were taking lodgings in the most unexpected 
quarters. Imagine my surprise when, as I trudged 
about, the little tree-sparrows, which are winter 
