122 Bird Comrades 



another surprise, proving that this species is not without 

 character, as indeed no species is. He leaped to the bole 

 of a sapling, clinging there a few moments like a chicka- 

 dee or a wren, while he pecked an appetizing morsel from 

 the bark; then he dropped down to the snow for a brief 

 breathing spell, after which he sprang up again to the 

 sapling for a few more bits, repeating the little perform- 

 ance a number of times. 



In the same part of the woods a company ot chicka- 

 dees was flitting about in the trees, plunging into the 

 little snowbanks on the twigs, sometimes standing in 

 them up to their white bosoms, and often brushing a 

 segment to the ground, thus making numerous breaches 

 in the white drifts. The racket they made with their 

 scolding and piping might have been called a musical din. 

 Deciding to watch them a while, I flung myself down 

 upon the snow. This act was the signal for a precious 

 to-do among the nervous little potherers. Did any one 

 ever hear or read of such a performance in all the annals 

 of birdland? What in the world did it mean a man 

 lying flat on the ground out there in the woods? I was 

 highly amused at the hurly-burly, and decided to add 

 still more variety to it. Suddenly I sprang to my feet 

 with a shout. Several of the birds dropped, as if shot, 

 into a thorn bush below them, where they set up a hub- 

 bub that would have made on old-time Puritan laugh, 

 even at the risk of being censured for levity. By and 

 by they quieted down, and one of them began to whistle 

 his pretty minor tune with as much serenity as if he had 



