196 THE BROOK BOOK 



cabbage and veratrum which had made themselves 

 so conspicuous in early summer. If they were 

 beginning to show their heads now in January I 

 needed to know about it. 



Again the crows flew up in a protesting body 

 from the bank long before I was near enough to 

 see why they had gathered at the brook's side. 

 They flapped away, reviling me loudly at every 

 flap for my intrusion. "A crow is a noisy, simple 

 old bird," I thought, but I didn't talk back to 

 them. My opinion of them rose again before an 

 hour had passed, and I wished they would come 

 back where I could beg their pardon. 



Arriving at the brook's rim, I was astonished 

 to find the snow on both banks tramped as by 

 thousands of little feet. The tracks were evidently 

 made by crows. There were perhaps a dozen or 

 twenty in the party I had disturbed, but the banks 

 of the stream for several rods looked as if an 

 army of four -toed soldiers had come there to 

 drink. I don't believe a score of crows made all 

 those tracks. Perhaps there had been an open- 

 air meeting or a county convention — crow poli- 

 ticians must be a thirsty lot! 



I crossed the brook and climbed a fence to a 

 bit of high ground. I stood still and surveyed the 

 prospect from my tiny hilltop. In the distance 

 in front, the snow-covered slopes of a long hill 

 climbed away toward the south. I watched a road 

 wander painfully up this hill and was glad I could 

 stay near home. From behind me came the soft 

 sighs of the white pines. But I had not come out 



