118 IN BIRD LAND. 
afterward, while strolling one evening at dusk 
through a favorite timber-belt, I noticed the snow- 
birds, or juncos, darting up from the leaves and 
bushes and small brush-heaps, beneath which they 
had found dainty little coverts from the storm. In 
many places crooked twigs and branches, covered 
with leaves, lay on the ground, leaving underneath 
small spaces overarched and sheltered, and into 
these cosey nooks the juncos had crept for the 
night. No enemies, at least in winter, would find 
them there, and their hiding-places were snug and 
warm. Long after dark I lingered in the woods, 
and everywhere startled the snow-birds from their 
leafy couches. At one place a whole colony of 
them had taken lodgings. When my passing fright- 
ened them away, they flew through the darkness 
into the neighboring trees. After waiting at some 
distance for several minutes, I returned to the spot, 
and found that some of the birds had gone back 
to their bedrooms on the ground. 
In my nocturnal prowlings through the fields and 
lowlands, I have frequently frightened the meadow- 
larks from the grass, and that long before nest-build- 
ing or incubation had begun. Of course, they were 
recognized by their nervous alarm-calls, as well as by 
the peculiar sound of their fluttering wings. What 
surprises me beyond measure is that they so often 
select low, boggy places for their roosts, instead of 
the dry pleasant upland slopes. But there is no 
accounting for tastes in the bird world. ‘The grass- 
finches and lark-sparrows, like their relatives just 
