30 NATURE'S STORY OF THE YEAR 



woman may bedeck herself with tatters from the 

 plumage of the slain. 



From the black, sky of midnight we hear the 

 frequent outcry of migrating ducks, which seem to 

 guide each other by means of such admonitions. 

 The troups of these birds are often delayed over 

 gaslit towns, probably because of the younger 

 birds being attracted by the lights ; but no long 

 stay is made. I remember seeing in broad day- 

 light a couple of swans flying high, and apparently 

 mistaking an array of glass in a nursery garden 

 for water, towards which they made a long and 

 graceful descent with drooping wings, only to sud- 

 denly rise again, however, when quite near the 

 glass, from which the rays of the sun were no 

 doubt attractively reflected. No wonder, then, that 

 to a tired, wandering seabird the busy lights of an 

 inland town may suggest the idea of a harbour 

 with comfort and the sea near by. But birds 01 

 the waters are not the only ones coming to us. 

 Far beyond the sea, in countries sunnier than our 

 own, legions of feathered songsters are toiling 

 night and day on the northward journey to our 

 waking woods. They are darting up the passes of 



