218 My Neighbor's Wood-Shed 



protested at the intrusion, and followed this 

 with the boldest of passes at grimalkin's 

 face, yet always stopped short just out of 

 reach, or, making an attack from the rear, 

 sped like a flash of light over the cat's head 

 and so near it that puss shook her ears and 

 looked the daggers that she would like to 

 have used. Her sharp claws came and went 

 in her velvety paws, but were of no avail as 

 weapons of offence, and the occasional leap 

 after the retreating bird fell far short of the 

 intended viftim. The wren's dexterity and 

 the cat's continued failure begat a confidence 

 in the former's dauntless breast that never in 

 turn led to carelessness, while early in the 

 game grimalkin became discouraged and re- 

 tired to think it all over when again in her 

 accustomed place behind the kitchen stove. 

 Then also the ordinary chirp, for which we 

 can suggest no special significance, became a 

 song-like utterance that was readily inter- 

 preted. Our winter birds, as we see them 

 out in the fields or along the narrow cow- 

 paths leading through the meadows, may not 

 be entertaining at all times, and but a lan- 

 guid interest, at best, is aroused even when 

 they sing, but there is an infectious earnest- 



