THE SONG DIES AWAY 



with Jenny's diligent housekeeping. What 

 could these warm, comfortable, happy little 

 creatures know of the fierce, bleak outer 

 world? 



I think they had almost forgotten the ex- 

 istence of other birds, when one day their 

 attention was attracted by some feathered 

 creatures, a little smaller than themselves, 

 fluttering and chattering around a few des- 

 olate-looking stalks in the field opposite. 

 They were snow-buntings; grayish-brown 

 upper markings with occasional black 

 streaks set off the plump, brown and white 

 breasts; and a reddish-brown collar sug- 

 gested sore-throat precautions. How these 

 merry little creatures played and rollicked 

 in the snow! It is said that they sometimes 

 sleep under it. Think of using that cold, 

 white mantle for a blanket! How they 

 joyed in the wild storms and the biting cold, 

 the first breath of which would have been 

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