THE WATER-OUZEL 281 



where they would subside among their companions 

 with a shiver, muttering in low, querulous chatter 

 like hungry children. 



Some of the sparrows were busy at the feet of 

 the larger trees gleaning seeds and benumbed 

 insects, joined now and then by a robin weary of 

 his unsuccessful attempts upon the snow-covered 

 berries. The brave woodpeckers were clinging to 

 the snowless sides of the larger boles and overarch 

 ing branches of the camp trees, making short 

 nights from side to side of the grove, pecking now 

 and then at the acorns they had stored in the bark, 

 and chattering aimlessly as if unable to keep still, 

 yet evidently putting in the time in a very dull 

 way, like storm-bound travelers at a country 

 tavern. The hardy nut-hatches were threading the 

 open furrows of the trunks in their usual industri 

 ous manner, and uttering their quaint notes, evi 

 dently less distressed than their neighbors. The 

 Steller jays were of course making more noisy stir 

 than all the other birds combined; ever coming 

 and going with loud bluster, screaming as if each 

 had a lump of melting sludge in his throat, and 

 taking good care to improve the favorable op 

 portunity afforded by the storm to steal from the 

 acorn stores of the woodpeckers. I also noticed 

 one solitary gray eagle braving the storm on the 

 top of a tall pine-stump just outside the main 

 grove. He was standing bolt upright with his 

 back to the wind, a tuft of snow piled on his 

 square shoulders, a monument of passive endur 

 ance. Thus every snow-bound bird seemed more 

 or less uncomfortable if not in positive distress. 



