56 LAND OF THE LINGERING SNOW. 



slope of Prospect Hill, in Waltham. The roads 

 were frozen, and the meadows stiff with ice. 

 Here and there roaring brooks passed under the 

 road and danced away towards the Charles. 

 The spaces between them were in some instances 

 filled by ledgy hills capped and sprinkled with 

 red cedars, some of which were sturdy old 

 trees with foliage full of golden-olive light. 

 From one of the hills came a gay troop of 

 robins flying in wide circles over the fields. 

 One of them sang in a timid way the song of 

 robin's love. It was the first attempt at the 

 complete song that I had heard this season. 

 From another ledge, covered with hardwood 

 trees, eight chickadees deployed across an or- 

 chard. Every one of them was saying some- 

 thing merry. On the edge of a meadow seven 

 bluebirds sat in the low branches of maple- 

 trees, and dropped one by one to the ground 

 to pick up food seen by their quick eyes in 

 the grass. I saw three more bluebirds later 

 in the day. Near the foot of Prospect Hill, a 

 flock of nearly a dozen birds, feeding in a yard 

 among spruces and maples, was found to include 

 chickadees, brown creepers, and a kinglet. I 

 saw four brown creepers during the day, one 

 of which in flying described curves and spirals 

 in the air which would have made a tumbler 

 pigeon green with envy. In a sheltered nook 



