72 THE SPRING OF THE YEAR 



during the winter, and bring down a dazed junco j 

 that would beat his life out up there against the / 

 i window-panes. He will lie on his back in my open \J 

 hand, either feigning death or really powerless with 

 fear. His eyes will close, his whole tiny body throb 

 convulsively with his throbbing heart. Taking him 

 to the door, I will turn him over and give him a 

 gentle toss. Instantly his wings flash ; they take him 

 zigzag for a yard or two, then bear him swiftly round r 

 the corner of the house and drop him in the midst Q 

 of his fellows, where they are feeding upon the lawn, f 

 He will shape himself up a little and fall to picking I 

 with the others. 



From a state of collapse the laws of his being! 

 bring the bird into normal behavior as quickly and | 

 completely as the collapsed rubber ball is rounded " . 

 i by the laws of its being. The memory of the fright ; 

 seems to be an impression exactly like the dent in 4 

 | the rubber ball as if it had never been. 

 Memories, of course, the animals surely have; but ( 

 \ little or no power to use them. The dog will some- .' 

 \-times seem to cherish a grudge ; so will the elephant, f. 

 / Some one injures or wrongs him, and the huge \ 

 , beast harbors the memory, broods it, and awaits his j 

 opportunity for revenge. Yet the records of these f- 

 cases usually show that the creature had been living \ 

 iwith the object of his hatred his keeper, perhaps 

 j and that the memory goes no farther back than 

 = the present moment, than the sight of the hated one. 



