204 THE CLERK OF THE WOODS 



odds the brightest patch of feathers of the 

 new century. The birds must be wintering 

 not far away, I suppose ; but though I have 

 been up and down that road a dozen times 

 since February came in, I have seen nothing 

 more of them. Within a month they will 

 be singing, taking the winds of March with 

 music. No more staccato then, but the 

 smoothest of fluency. 



Much the birdiest spot known to me just 

 now is under our own windows under them 

 and against them, as shall presently be ex- 

 plained. Indeed, we may be said to be run- 

 ning a birds' boarding-house, and we are cer- 

 tainly doing an excellent business. " Meals 

 at all hours," our signboard reads. We " set 

 a good table," as the trade expression is, and 

 our guests, who, being experienced travelers, 

 know a good thing when they see it, have 

 spread the news. There is no advertisement 

 so effective as a satisfied customer. 



The earliest comers are the blue jays. 

 They anticipate the first call for breakfast, 

 appearing before sunrise. Jays are a shrewd 

 set. They can put two and two together with 

 the sharpest of us. Man, they have dis- 



