WITH THE WINTER BIRDS. 261 



were his only friends, and not one of them, it is 

 said, feared him. They came and went in and out 

 his open door, and not even his old dog thought 

 of raising a paw against them. The day before the 

 old man closely scanned the sky, and, turning, 

 said, "Pudge, old dog, it's as sure to be a green 

 Christmas to-morrow as that you are ugly." The 

 dog took it all in good part, and barked assent to his 

 master's decision. 



"And we'll have the red-bird whistle and the 

 blue-jay laugh, and you can dance in the sunshine 

 to their music, if you choose ; as for me, I'll " and 

 the old man stopped at this point and gazed intently 

 down the path. Pudge looked in the same direction, 

 but saw nothing to bark at. 



" How weak I am to be forever fancying she may 

 come again !" muttered the old man ; and he turned 

 towards the door of the cottage, nor looked again 

 about him as he crossed the threshold. 



It was a clear, glittering, frost-gemmed Christmas 

 morning, as the hermit had predicted. The car- 

 dinal grosbeak whistled as never before, the blue- 

 jays chattered, the song-sparrows sang, the crested 

 tit and golden-crowned kinglet made merry, and the 

 stately ruffed grouse, the old man's "pheasants," 

 came, like chickens, close to his door, full of ex- 

 pectation of a hearty meal ; but the old man did 

 not appear to welcome them, nor did the old dog 

 bark as he had done for years. The feast of seeds 

 and crumbs that were daily scattered was not ready 

 for the birds to-day, and it was Christmas, too. 



