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50 IN BIRD LAND. 



as if it were a carpet of down, and picking seeds 

 from grass-stems and weed-stalks. All the while 

 they keep up a cheerful chirping, as if to express 

 their appreciation of the pleasant winter weather. 



Strangest of all is their wading about in the snow. 

 It makes me shiver to see their little bare feet sink- 

 ing into the icy crystals, and I feel disposed to offer 

 them my warm rubber boots ; only I know they 

 would decUne the proposal with scorn. " I am no 

 tenderfoot ! " one of them seems to say, with cunning 

 literalness. Their dainty tracks in the snow are 

 suggestive, and give to the thoughtful observer more 

 than one clew to bird cerebration. Let us follow 

 one of these winding pathways. Here a bird 

 alighted, his feet sinking deep into the cold down ; 

 then he hopped along to this tuft of grass, where he 

 picked a few mouthfuls of seeds, standing up to his 

 body in the snow ; then an impulse seized him to 

 seek another feeding-place ; so he went plunging 

 through the drifts, leaving, at regular intervals, the 

 prints of his two tiny feet side by side, while his 

 toes traced a slender connecting line on the white 

 surface between the deeper indentations. But here 

 is another path. What impulse seized this bird to 

 turn back like a rabbit on his track? For it is 

 evident that this is sometimes done. Then here 

 are only two or three footprints, showing that the 

 bird alighted suddenly, and as suddenly yielded to 

 an impulse to fly up again. What thought struck 

 him just at that moment that made him so quickly 

 change his mind? 



