As the harsh, aggressive ice closes in about the open 

 spaces in the bay the food problem grows more and 

 more difficult/or lingering flocks. Red-heads, Blue- 

 bills, Coween, and a few Whistle-wings flaunt the cold 

 and defy the niggardliness of the frozen north in 

 covering up her few remaining stores of food. There 

 are a few roots and some worms for the more dainty 

 feeders, with here and there a bunch of pond grass 

 rising from the bottom, and the omnivorous Coween 

 find small fish in the open water. Snails lodged in the 

 green vegetation on submerged and decaying timbers 

 are not rejected. Still the food problem presses with 

 greater and greater intensity, and the small flocks 

 hurry back and forth between the ice-girt opening 

 in the bay and the broad, cold, turbulent expanse of 

 the lake. Their swift, quivering wings and steady, 

 lowering course as they seek the dull grey enshrouding 

 distance make a marked contrast to the leisurely 

 soaring Gulls, at home in all places and seasons, 

 pursuing seemingly purposeless courses and settling 

 down wherever the buoyant water carries an acci- 



230 



