SOME SNUG WINTER BEDS 



IT was a cold, desolate January day. Scarcely 

 a sprig of green showed in the wide land- 

 scape, except where the pines stood in a long 

 blur against the gray sky. There was not a sign 

 that anything living remained in the snow-buried 

 fields, nor in the empty woods, shivering and 

 looking all the more uncovered and cold under 

 their mantle of snow, until a solitary crow 

 flapped heavily over toward the pines in search 

 of an early bed for the night. 



The bird reminded me that I, too, should be 

 turning toward the pines ; for the dull gray 

 afternoon was thickening into night, and my 



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