CROSSBILLS. 167 



up in the air. They were often so high that I 

 could not see them, and one day several flocks 

 passed over my head, affording only a glimpse of 

 black dots for them all. Their note often came 

 from the hemlocks back in the woods, and on 

 Thanksgiving morning I had the satisfaction of 

 seeing the noisy strangers. 



They had come out in the clearing, and lighted 

 near a milk-house, some on a tree and others on 

 the ground. I crept up as noiselessly as the crusty 

 snow would allow, and, screening myself behind 

 another building, watched them for some time. 

 They seemed nervous, for every few minutes they 

 started up simultaneously with a whirr, flew about 

 a few seconds, and then settled down again. 



When they were resting, those that were not 

 chattering warbled to themselves in a sweet under- 

 tone, but when a new company joined their ranks 

 they all began jabbering, and it was a grave ques- 

 tion if any of them could hear what they were 

 asking, or their neighbors trying to tell. Then as 

 they broke up into groups and went wheeling 

 about in the air, the glittering gilt deer weather- 

 vane on top of a barn a few rods away attracted 

 them, and some of them lit on the horns a mo- 

 ment in passing. Several squads of them flew 

 away, and as the confusion decreased the others 

 grew less restless, and twenty or thirty flew down 

 under the milk-house door and began picking up 

 what they could find on the stones. 



