A BIT OF COLOR. 113 



chatter came from them. Their coloring is as 

 beautiful as that of the fox sparrow, and if they 

 cannot revive the fainting heart by song, they 

 can give the eye joy by their speed, their perfect 

 grace of flight, and the beauty of their outlines. 



On the further side of the neglected lawn 

 nearly a hundred purple grackles were feeding 

 in the grass. They rose, blurring the sky in the 

 north, and darkened the tops of a dozen trees 

 where they perched and " creaked " in disgust at 

 my coming. 



Looking across the pond the further shores 

 showed but dimly. A strong east wind had 

 been blowing all day, and the air was heavy with 

 the grayness of the sea. The water was metallic 

 in its lights and shadows, its points of reflected 

 fire and stripes of darkness. Distant banks of 

 birches and willows showed faint tones of green, 

 red, and yellow through the silver veil of the 

 chilly air. Mount Saint Joseph stood up dark 

 and strong in the middle of the opposing shore, 

 its hemlocks and pines yielding black reflec- 

 tions in the sullen water. A train rolled along 

 across Concord Avenue, and stopped at the Fresh 

 Pond station. Its outlines were vague and its 

 smoke seemed part of the gray air, until an open 

 furnace door sent a flood of orange light up 

 through it, and revealed its writhings and alter- 

 nations of whiteness and blackness as the train 

 puffed on towards the setting sun. 



