OUR COUNTRY LIFE 



hilltop sending its rosy path across the water to our 

 chamber windows; hoar frost veils the green grass, a 

 junco's feeble chirp is heard, then a light picking and 

 a squeak. It is a pair of robins after the woodbine 

 berries over the southern windows, a belated pair of 

 robins who evidently have decided not to migrate this 

 year but to trust in the full provision of our berry gar 

 den for their winter's sustenance. Suddenly a sharp 

 patter on the housetop, a confused scrambling on the 

 roof, then a silence as the tree is attained and a gentle 

 scratching on my screen informs me that it is time for 

 breakfast according to Mr. Squirrel. His hunger ap 

 peased he begins to carry away the nuts to store in 

 secret places of the lawn; then the blue jays gather and 

 caw in derision. Back and forth runs the industrious 

 squirrel providing for the coming winter; over him 

 flies the thieving blue jay also keen upon his winter 

 store. No sooner has Mr. Squirrel safely hidden his 

 precious nut in the soft dirt than down sweeps Captain 

 Blue Jay, digs it up and flies away with it. Against 

 such tactics what defense has Master Squirrel? With 



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