CHAPTER XX. 



THREE BEECHES. 



I HAVE often wondered that these sole remaining 

 traces of the primeval forest did not die of chagrin when 

 they saw how sadly changed everything was about them. 

 However, they still stand as glorious monuments of a splen- 

 did long ago, guarding a little space of air if not of earth, 

 wherein, unmolested, the year round, birds may congre- 

 gate in safety. 



These three beeches are not simply three enormous 

 trees ; but they are, collectively, my beautiful aviary. I 

 doubt if a day passes, the year round, that at least one 

 bird does not tarry in their branches ; and it is in this 

 aspect only that I purpose writing of them. 



Let us glance at them in mid-winter. Even then, we 

 are sure to find blue-jays screaming amid the labyrinth 

 of leafless branches that crown the trees. Common as 

 they are, and in spite of many unattractive ways, these 

 birds are worthy of careful study. There is much more 

 in them than those who know them only as " noisy gos- 

 sips" would suspect. For the past three years a half- 

 dozen or more of them have been living, from November 

 to March, in these beeches, and have afforded me no end 

 of amusement. 



Just where they roost I am not quite sure, but I 

 think in a haymow near by. Be this as it may, as soon 

 as the night is spent the birds are astir, and, screaming 



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