174 THE GARDEN OF A 



elements were abroad, for such a chorus of alarm 

 cries I had never heard save in the anxious nesting 

 season. 



In some places the snow was even and a couple 

 of inches deep, in others there were tiny drifts, while 

 the cowpath itself was almost bare. The seeded 

 stalks of goldenrod, mullein, and the lattice-work of 

 the wild grapevines took fantastic shapes from the 

 clinging snow, above which the Christmas ferns 

 emerged crisp and shining. 



By the time I reached the end of the path at 

 the bars and turned to go back, I began to realize 

 the blinding power of snow, for both the fall and the 

 wind had increased; night seemed to be coming, 

 and I was almost obliged to grope my way. In 

 crossing the sun garden I walked into the dial post, 

 in turning aside from the apple tree, I found my- 

 self under the rose arbour on my way to the barn 

 instead of near the house, so I continued on to put 

 Pat and the hounds into their night quarters in the 

 stable. 



As I opened the door, half a dozen j uncos flew in 

 after me, and bunched half exhausted in the bottom 

 of a hay-rack. I called Bertie and told him to open 

 one of the ventilating windows in the hay-barn, on 

 the side away from the wind, and there was also 



