342 Bird - Lore 



stabbings of his curved beak. Up above the roofs, up above the tallest elm, 

 the little Chickadee twisted and dodged and shrieked, evading, just evading 

 the Northern Shrike. It was horrible — yet, as next morning I counted seven 

 Chickadees, I think the victim escaped. During the rest of February, when the 

 murderous Hun appeared, a solemn hush would descend on our cheerful 

 orchard where the Chickadees were 'frozen' to the orchard trees. The seven 

 survived the perils of the winter, coming for seed till June. In the mating-time 

 I saw a male feed a female husked sunflower seeds — which she ate, fluttering 

 her wings. But when the June skies were their bluest the Chickadees came back 

 no more and a Song Sparrow stole their hemp and rape seeds from the window- 

 sill. 



Of course, the Woodpeckers, Blue Jays, and Partridges were with us always, 

 and at times the Tree Sparrows and Juncos and Snow Buntings drifted by in 

 scattering clouds or the Thistle Birds in cloudlets gleaned the weeds among the 

 stubble. And there were seen — though not on our acres — the Evening Gros- 

 beaks and the alien Starlings. Our irregular visitors came and went. In 

 December the maple trees blossomed forth one morning as pink hollyhocks, 

 and a little boy watching them from the window asked, '^Vhatare those birds 

 that have mermaids' tails?" The Pine Grosbeaks blossomed in the maples for 

 two days, eating the keys, and then they flew a mile eastward to continue their 

 out-of-season reaping. 



Early March brought some of the Sparrows northward; then, like a wicked 

 old witch, she tried to freeze them and starve them; snow, changing to sleet, 

 and an icy wind were her servants. We awoke one morning to find literally a 

 thousand birds singing and twittering and wheeling over the orchard and 

 fields, seeking food and shelter. We scattered grain and sweepings from the 

 hay barns over the snow, and also rape and hemp seeds. The barnyard, the 

 orchard, the fields and meadows were dotted by the frail little creatures and, 

 as they came about the house, we identified them. There were dozens of little 

 grey and white Redpolls with bright red caps and pale pink suffusing their 

 breasts; so tiny were they, so babyish that my Chickadees seemed clowns. 

 There were Slate-colored Juncos mincing about in the snow, and, mingling 

 with them, were Tree Sparrows and Song Sparrows, and a few very docile 

 EngHsh Sparrows. The Tree Sparrows, cocking their tails like Wrens, at- 

 tempted suet. How bright and smart the Sparrows were in their fine spring 

 feathers and how we admired them until one plump gentleman dropped into 

 the assemblage and dwarfed them by his size and elegance and color! The 

 stranger was a Fox Sparrow and more than one cinnamon-box had gone to 

 powder his feathers! 



On March 15 the Red- Wings were swaying in the elms by the river, 

 creaking like arboreal frogs. When I saw them, even though the snow whitened 

 the fields, I made my last entry in my book of winter birds, for I knew that 

 spring had come. 



