FIRST WEEK] October 257 



from the Botanical Gardens, had tempted the inexperienced 

 birds and caused their deaths. 



As we walk through the October woods a covey of 

 ruffed grouse springs up before us, overhead a flock of 

 robins dashes by, and the birds scatter to feed among the 

 wild grapes. The short round wings of the grouse whirr 

 noisily, while the quick wing beats of the robins make 

 little sound. Both are suited to their uses. The robin 

 may travel league upon league to the south, while the 

 grouse will not go far except to find new bud or berry 

 pastures. His wings, as we have noticed before, are fitted 

 rather for sudden emergencies, to bound up before the 

 teeth of the fox close upon him, to dodge into close cover 

 when the nose of the hound almost touches his trembling 

 body. When he scrambled out of his shell last May he at 

 once began to run about and to try his tiny wings, and 

 little by little he taught himself to fly. But in the efforts 

 he got many a tumble and broke or lost many a feather. 

 Nature, however, has foreseen this, and to her grouse chil- 

 dren she gives several changes of wing feathers to practise 

 with, before the last strong winter quills come in. 



How different it is with the robin. Naked and helpless 

 he comes from his blue shell, and only one set of wing 

 quills falls to his share, so it behooves him to be careful 

 indeed of these. He remains in the nest until they are 

 strong enough to bear him up, and his first attempts are 

 carefully supervised by his anxious parents. And so the 

 glimpse we had in the October woods of the two pair of 

 wings held more of interest than we at first thought. 



In many parts of the country, about October fifteenth 



