FEATHERED PIONEERS 



IN the annual war of the seasons, March is the 

 time of the most bitterly contested battles. 

 But we — and very likely the birds — can look ahead 

 and realise what the final outcome will invariably 

 be, and, our sympathies being on the winning side, 

 every advance of spring's outposts gladdens our 

 hearts. But winter is a stubborn foe, and some- 

 times his snow and icicle battalions will not give 

 way a foot. Though by day the sun's fierce 

 attack may drench the earth with the watery 

 blood of the ice legions, yet at night, silently 

 and grimly, new reserves of cold repair the 

 damage. 



Our winter visitors are still in force. Amid the 

 stinging cold the wee brown form of a winter wren 

 will dodge round a brush pile — a tiny bundle of 

 energy which defies all chill winds and which 

 resolves bug chrysalides and frozen insects into 

 a marvellous activity. Other little birds, as small 

 as the wren, call to us from the pines and cedars — 

 golden-crowned kinglets, olive-green of body, 

 while on their heads burns a crest of orange and 

 gold. 



"When a good-sized brown bird flies up before 

 you, showing a flash of white on his rump, you 



60 



