AMERICAN ORNITHOLOGY. 69 



irregular spiral course, from right to left, as he works up the main trunk 

 of this tree, and then when he reaches the first branches he flies to the 

 bottom of another trunk and gives his single note, a lisping "cree." 

 The creeper is the best example of protective coloration which the 

 Haunt affords, and he shows very decidedly that he is aware of this 

 gift. I have frequently come within three feet of a creeper as he clung, 

 flattened against the trunk of a tree, before he would stir. Then he 

 would fly or dodge to the other side of the tree like a flash, and keep 

 the trunk between himself and me as I endeavored to see him further. 

 But as a rule the creeper is a very busy bird in winter and has no time 

 to stop for visitors unless they be of the hawk or owl family. Were it 

 not for the fact that he follows the others so faithfully I might be 

 tempted to think the creeper a very matter-of-fact and unsentimental 

 bird. 



The downy brings up the rear of the company. As we watch him, 

 he impresses us as being very thorough in his work. He stays for a 

 long time on one tree, until the other birds have all passed on; then 

 with a sharp note, he passes them with bounding flight and goes to 

 work again. 



Ever moving, the Winter Friends disappear as suddenly as they 

 came, and with a sense of satisfaction we pass on to see other sights. 



During the winter in which I have had a band of Winter Friends un- 

 der observation in the Haunt (probably the same birds each winter) I 

 have never been unable to find two or three of the five species, and 

 generally all five have been at once in evidence. 



I have found this group of birds interesting from an economic point 

 of view. Day after day they go over the same trees, the Chickadees 

 and Kinglets rapidly, and the Nuthatches, Downys and Creepers with 

 great care; yet they never exhaust the supply of food. Now when we 

 consider the number of insects and larvae which such a group of from 

 a dozen to fifteen birds destroys during a winter, we can realize the 

 economic value of the smallest birds. 



Speaking of small birds, I had a little visitor from November to Jan- 

 uary one year, in whom I took much interest. He was a Winter Wren; 

 a diminutive little brown fellow, with his short tail turned up, and a 

 complete aversion to remaining still even for a moment. I first met 

 him near the dump-pile, if the truth must be told; hearing a note which 

 I thought was Song Sparrow's common call. I was about to note it 

 down when I saw this small bird mount for an instant to the top of a 

 pile of brush, bobbing up and down most excitedly. A slight move- 

 ment of my hand sent him out of sight, but by making a few noises 

 with my mouth he was induced to mount again into view. He gave his 



