A BIRD-GAZER AT THE CANON 



Yankee; "do it again." But the singer, as singers 

 will, refused the encore. One or two nuthatches 

 and a hairy woodpecker were with the group, 

 almost as a matter of course, and at the last 

 minute the tiniest bunch of feathers was seen 

 fluttering about the twigs of a pine. None but a 

 kinglet could dance on the wing in just that 

 tricksy fashion; and, true enough, a kinglet it 

 was, a goldcrest, seen for a glance or two only, 

 but, even so, revealing a strangely conspicuous 

 white or whitish band on the side of the crown. 

 Another Rocky Mountain stranger, if you please, 

 the Rocky Mountain goldcrest. Two new birds 

 within five minutes. Perhaps the bird-gazer did 

 not go on his way rejoicing ! The road was rough, 

 — frozen every night, and muddy to desperation 

 every afternoon, — but a hobby could still be 

 ridden over it with comfort. 



And here seems a good place in which to men- 

 tion one of the Yankee visitor's meteorological 

 surprises. Somebody had spoken to him of cold 

 weather lately at the Canon, — zero or under, — 

 and he mentioned the report to his friend the 

 photographer. " Oh, yes," was the answer ; " prob- 

 ably the mercury has not been far from zero 

 for the last two mornings." 



The visitor intimated incredulity; he had been 

 strolling in the woods before sunrise on both the 

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