THE DRAWBRIDGE. 285 



Tlicn there are the two kinglets, wren-like in all their 

 ways ; wee bits of impatience, wrapped in light-brown 

 feathers. They climb and twitter among the tall trees, 

 and at times dip down to the very ground to snap their 

 little beaks in the cat's-ears ; then, clutching a twig, will 

 sometimes warble a bar or two of some half-forgotten 

 summer song before mounting to the tall tree's very 

 top and launching into dreary space, regardless alike of 

 wind or rain, of sleet or snow. 



Two titmice — cheerful birds the world would sadly 

 miss ; the lordly tomtit, with his jaunty crest ; the merry 

 chickadee — the former making the Avoods ring with his 

 earnest invitation to ramble therein : here — here — here ! 

 the latter ever winsome as it chirps, in more subdued 

 tones, chiclc-a-dee-dee — dee-dee; icinter no terror has for 

 me— for me. 



Titmice will never allow you to be lonely if you walk 

 in the woods. They are honestly pleased with your 

 presence, and mean every chirp and twitter as a hearty 

 welcome. They will follow you at times, and when 

 they flit from bush to bush it is not to avoid you, but 

 lead you on — guide you to the pleasant places, to the 

 tallest trees, the warmest, cosiest corners. Evolution 

 did itself honor in producing such a bird. 



And we have two nuthatches — marked features of a 

 winter day. They are near cousins, creatures of like 

 tastes, and, happily, never at loggerheads. One has a 

 niddy waistband — if a bird has a waist — the other is 

 clad beneath in white; by this you may know them. 

 All day long, and even far into the moonlight night, 

 these birds clatter over the crisp, frost-nipped bark of 



