208 SOME WINTER VISITORS 



The little Redpolls are here, manoeuvring in 

 comfortable flocks along the lake shore* They seem 

 scarcely able to remain still long enough to gather a 

 few clinging or scattered seeds. The quiet, cold 

 monotony of a sportsman's wait for a flock of Bluebills 

 is suddenly broken by the fluttering of little wings. 

 The Redpolls have come out of nowhere. The flock 

 darts hither and thither in an inextricable entangle- 

 ment of changes, and settles into sudden stillness on 

 an adjacent clump of scrub Willows, But the still- 

 ness is only apparent, for their intricate activity on 

 the wing has been changed to a bright restlessness 

 among the concealing twigs near the ground. They 

 are apparently as modest in attire as the Sparrows, 

 for their purple-red crowns are scarcely visible on 

 account of their unceasing motion. The males have 

 also a scarcely noticeable pink tint on their breasts. 

 The light wing bar, forked tail, and sharp, conical 

 bill are distinctive features. Little flocks rise as 

 suddenly as they alighted, turn this way and that in 

 mixed unanimity, and scurry away as if an adverse 

 fate impended over the hindmost. 



Snowbirds are careening along the shore, always 

 as joyful as children released from school. Hither 

 and thither, up and down, intoxicated by the joy of 

 aimless flight, the passing flock are intermingling 

 with bewildering irregularity. Suddenly they execute 

 a turning movement, mixing up and fluttering down 



