OUR WINTER BIRDS. 



109 



on this fence-rail is the track of a squirrel, and in the cor- 

 ner of the rail and rider is the half-eaten body of a chicka- 

 dee which some butcher-bird has hung up. How the dry 

 wood creaks as I climb over, and how resonant is that dead 

 ash under the vigorous hammer of the little woodpecker 



SNOW-BUNTING. 



whose red crest glows like a spark of fire against the white 

 limb ! Around this spice-bush the mice have been at work, 

 nibbling the bark off up to the surface of the snow, and we 

 can see the entrance to their tunnel. This path, trod bare 

 by the cows, leads to the hilly brush -pasture where the 

 southern sun shines all the afternoon, and thither let me 

 follow. 



