72 THE SPRING OF THE YEAR 



during 1 the winter, and bring down a dazed junco 

 that would beat his life out up there against the 

 window-panes. He will lie on his back in my open 

 hand, either feigning death or really powerless with 

 fear. His eyes will close, his whole tiny body throb 

 convulsively with his throbbing heart. Taking him 

 to the door, I will turn him over and give him a 

 gentle toss. Instantly his wings flash ; they take him 

 zigzag for a yard or two, then bear him swiftly round 

 the corner of the house and drop him in the midst 

 of his fellows, where they are feeding upon the lawn. 

 He will shape himself up a little and fall to picking 

 with the others. 



From a state of collapse the laws of his being 

 bring the bird into normal behavior as quickly and 

 completely as the collapsed rubber ball is rounded 

 by the laws of its being. The memory of the fright 

 seems to be an impression exactly like the dent in 

 the rubber ball as if it had never been. 



Memories, of course, the animals surely have; but 

 little or no power to use them. The dog will some- 

 times seem to cherish a grudge ; so will the elephant. 

 Some one injures or wrongs him, and the huge 

 beast harbors the memory, broods it, and awaits his 

 opportunity for revenge. Yet the records of these 

 cases usually show that the creature had been living 

 with the object of his hatred his keeper, perhaps 

 and that the memory goes no farther back than 

 the present moment, than the sight of the hated one. 



