DEAD LOW 295 



the back and neck, more black and white about 

 the wings, and a great blaze of white on the rump 

 as they fly away. 



More industrious than the chaffinches and 

 bramblings are the greenfinches, now of a ripe 

 golden brown. They carry out a faint feathered 

 resemblance to parrots, by their habit of almost 

 walking rather than hopping among the leaves. 

 When the great tits in saffron and blue-black and 

 the amazingly blue-and-yellow blue tits are added 

 to the company of foragers, we have a blaze of 

 colour that is almost tropical. The coal tit makes 

 a rather more sober contribution, but the bold 

 pieing of its neck shows to great advantage as 

 this mouse-like little bird goes hammering about 

 with his active little head. 



As noon creeps on into night, a night of fifteen 

 hours, a steel chill strikes through even the cosiest 

 corners. The blackbird leaves his digging and 

 goes off last of all, except the robin, to find the 

 cosiest possible place to keep him alive through 

 the night. His shrill ' chink-chinking,' usually 

 attributed to the fear of cats, is a cry of petu- 

 lance at the cruelty of the winter and of alarm 

 lest this night should prove worse than the last. 

 Yet how much worse off are certain birds we 

 know. 



The bJackbird sleeps in the midst of a holly 

 bush into which the snow comes never and the 

 rain very seldom. It is as good as the roof of 

 thatch that the sparrows patronize. Or he sleeps 



