BIRDS' WINTER BEDS 



The owl, for all his feathers, was a-cold. 



A STORM had been raging from the north- 

 east all day. Toward evening the wind 

 strengthened to a gale, and the fine, icy snow 

 swirled and drifted over the frozen fields. 



I lay a long time listening to the wild sym- 

 phony of the winds, thankful for the roof over 

 my head, and wondering how the hungry, home- 

 less creatures out of doors would pass the night. 

 Where do the birds sleep such nights as this? 

 Where in this bitter cold, this darkness and 

 storm, will they make their beds? The lark 

 that broke from the snow at my feet as I crossed 

 the pasture this afternoon 

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