My Neighbor's Wood-Shed 219 



ness in the pretty ways of the wood-shed- 

 haunting winter wren to which the spectator 

 is certain to respond unless as sluggish as 

 some of the strange people I have met. 

 There were other birds that occasionally 

 made visits, but not one of them attracted 

 the wren's attention, though the novelty of 

 the surroundings always excited their volu- 

 bility. The nuthatches, the tree-creeper, 

 golden-crowned kinglet, the ever-delightful 

 chickadee, the jaunty crested tit, and blue 

 snowbirds all came in the days following 

 a deep snow. They came, they saw, but 

 it was not so certain what they conquered. 

 Not one of these, however, was so frequent 

 a visitor as that prince of winter song-birds, 

 the Carolina wren. It was never at a loss 

 for a song and, if we consider chirping 

 equivalent to talking, as I have always done, 

 for something to say. And what an inspir- 

 iting utterance is its song ! The air fairly 

 trembled when it rang out in the clear, cold 

 air, and I have often fancied that even the 

 sleepy cows in the barn-yard looked up with 

 pleasure. Did the song recall the sweet 

 grasses in the June meadows when every 

 thrush was cheering its nesting mate and all 



