120 BIRD STORIES FROM BURROUGHS 



superiors. I do not hear him after the first week 

 in July. 



The winter wren is so called because he some- 

 times braves our northern winters, but it is rarely 

 that one sees him at this season. I think I have seen 

 him only two or three times in winter in my life. 

 The event of one long walk, recently, in February, 

 was seeing one of these birds. As I followed a 

 byroad, beside a little creek in the edge of a wood, 

 my eye caught a glimpse of a small brown bird 

 darting under a stone bridge. I thought to my- 

 self no bird but a wren would take refuge under 

 so small a bridge as that. I stepped down upon 

 it and expected to see the bird dart out at the 

 upper end. As it did not appear, I scrutinized 

 the bank of the little run, covered with logs and 

 brush, a few rods farther up. 



Presently I saw the wren curtsying and ges- 

 ticulating beneath an old log. As I approached 

 he disappeared beneath some loose stones in the 

 bank, then came out again and took another peep 

 at me, then fidgeted about for a moment and dis- 

 appeared again, running in and out of the holes 

 and recesses and beneath the rubbish like a mouse 

 or a chipmunk. The winter wren may always be 

 known by these squatting, bobbing-out-and-in 

 habits. 



As I sought a still closer view of him, he flit- 



