Winter Pensioners 177 



gray. Shortly, a complete postjuvenal molt occurs and a preliminary 

 winter plumage is assumed, which is nearly identical with that of the 

 adults. From this stage on, the sequence of molts and plumages is 

 the same in adults and young birds, both assuming white plumages in 

 winter and mottled brown ones in summer, followed by the intermediate 

 reddish stage, which is grayish or dusky in some species. 



The minor details of the three molts of adults and of the two 

 peculiar to young birds are extremely interesting, but space forbids our 

 going deeper into them. Enough, however, has been said to show not 

 only how the Ptarmigans molt, but why they molt. The plumage 

 changes seem to be necessitated by the conditions vmder which they 

 live. 



Winter Pensioners \ 



BY BRADFORD TORREY 



With photographs from nature 



OUR northern winter is a lean time, ornithologically, though 

 it brings us some choice birds of its own, and is not 

 without many alleviations. When the Redpolls come in 

 crowds and the White-winged Crossbills in good numbers, 

 both of which things happened last year, the world is not half so 

 bad with us as it might be. Still, winter is winter, a season to be 

 tided over rather than doted upon, and anything which helps to 

 make the time pass agreeably is matter for thankfulness. So I am 

 asked to write something about the habit we are in at our house of 

 feeding birds in cold weather, and thus keeping them under the 

 windows. Really we have done nothing peculiar, nor has our suc- 

 cess been beyond that of many of our neighbors ; but such as it is, 

 the work has given us much enjoyment, and the readers of Bird- 

 Lore are welcome to the story. 



Our method is to put out pieces of raw suet, mostly the trim- 

 mings of beefsteak. These we attach to branches of trees and to 

 the veranda trellis, taking pains, of course, to have them beyond the 

 cat's reach (that the birds may feed safely) and at the same time 

 well disposed for our own convenience as spectators. For myself, 

 in addition, I generally nail pieces of the bait upon one or two of 

 the outer sills of my study windows. I like, as I sit reading or 

 writing, to hear now and then a Nuthatch or a Chickadee ham- 

 mering just outside the pane. Often I rise to have a look at the 

 visitor. There is nothing but the glass between us, and I can stand 

 near enough to see his beady eyes, and, so to speak, the expression 



