OUR COUNTRY LIFE 



Now, indeed, is the country divine! In a cloudless 

 sky without a breath of wind the sun rises, a globe of 

 fire. Is this our sober, tangible, prosaic earth, this rich 

 tangle of white-draped branches, this iridescent ex 

 panse of unsullied purity? Not a brown leaf stirs, not 

 a sign of life anywhere. But wait! Is it a flutter of 

 wings under that bush by the terrace? Is it u dee, 

 dee" I hear close to my window? 



I must hasten to spread my table, for I have left 

 the withered geraniums in my window box to serve as 

 a natural shelter against the rain or snow, and on the 

 earth beneath I sprinkle the food for the birds 

 cracked corn and oats, crumbs and suet, birdseed and 

 chopped nuts, to please all tastes. Nor do they need 

 a second invitation. The chickadees look at me stead 

 ily and help themselves with dainty gusto, the nut 

 hatches are a bit more selfish, perhaps, but not terrify 

 ing to the juncos, who calmly stand their ground. 

 When the nuthatch is storing his bit in the tree trunk, 

 back comes Mr. Chickadee with his bewitching little 



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