74 LAND OF THE LINGERING SNOW. 



speed which was marvellous. They were flying 

 high enough to clear the tops of the trees. The 

 rush of their wings was like a squall passing 

 through a pine grove. 



As we drove slowly between the even rows of 

 willows which make Rock Meadow on the Con- 

 cord turnpike one of the most charming spots 

 near Cambridge, song sparrows by threes and 

 fours were seen and heard at every lull in the 

 west wind's blowing. Two rusty grackles flew 

 over, alighted in an elm, sounded their quaint 

 notes, and then dropped down into the meadow. 

 A redwing blackbird " ka-reed " from a treetop, 

 and more than a dozen crows revelled in loud 

 cawing, sturdy flying, or rapid walking over the 

 lowlands. Over the hills and far away we drove 

 in the bright sunshine, until, reaching at last the 

 secluded spot we had chosen for our goal, we 

 3et out through a narrow, walled lane for the 

 woods. 



A muskrat, sunning himself on a stone, see- 

 ing us, hurled himself across the lane into and 

 through a puddle, showering spray in every 

 direction, and out of sight under a stone wall 

 beyond. A single junco, the first I had seen 

 this year, rose from a ploughed field, flashed his 

 white tail feathers, and turned his cowled head 

 to watch us. High over a pine-crowned hill a 

 red-shouldered hawk was sailing in small circles, 



