WINTER WREN. 157 



tering quip-quap as he goes. Then one flies 

 against the side of a tree to peck at a promising 

 bit of bark and clambers several feet up the 

 trunk to show what a good gymnast he is ; and 

 finally one pops up with a worm in his mouth, 

 shakes it well before eating, and afterwards wipes 

 his bill with the energy characteristic of the ac- 

 tive, healthy temper of the whole wren family. 



On the twelfth of October the ground was cov- 

 ered with snow, and the woods were so white and 

 still I hardly expected to find anything in the 

 raspberry patch. But walking through I discov- 

 ered one of the little wrens, as active and busy as 

 ever. As I stood watching him he climbed into 

 the cosiest cover of leaves that a bush ever offered 

 a bird for shelter, and I supposed he would settle 

 himself to wait for the sun. But no ! he exam- 

 ined it carefully, turning his head on one side 

 and then the other, probably thinking it would 

 be a very nice place for some tender worm, and 

 then flew out into the cold snowy bushes again. 



On the twenty-second of the month, when we 

 had had a still heavier fall of snow, and the 

 wrens found it too cold even to take dinner from 

 a golden-rod stem, one of the confiding little birds 

 came to hunt on the piazza right in front of my 

 study window. You should have seen him work I 

 He ignored the crumbs I threw out for him, but 

 flitted about, running over the shrivelled vines 

 trained over the piazza, and examining all the 



