The Lay of the Band 
and zest that they put into their scratching among 
the leaves. 
A much bigger splashing drew me quietly through 
the bushes to find a marsh hawk giving himself 
a Christmas souse. The scratching, washing, and 
talking of the birds; the masses of green in the 
cedars, holly, and laurels ; the glowing colors of the 
berries against the snow; the blue of the sky, and 
the golden warmth of the light made Christmas in 
the heart of the noon that the very swamp seemed 
to feel. 
Three months later there was to be scant picking 
here, for this was the beginning of the severest win- 
ter I ever knew. From this very ridge, in February, 
I had reports of berries gone, of birds starving, of 
whole coveys of quail frozen dead in the snow; but 
neither the birds nor I dreamed to-day of any such 
hunger and death. A flock of robins whirled into 
the cedars above me; a pair of cardinals whistled 
back and forth; tree sparrows, juncos, nuthatches, 
chickadees, and cedar-birds cheeped among the trees 
and bushes; and from the farm lands at the top of 
the slope rang the calls of meadowlarks. 
Halfway up the hill I stopped under a blackjack 
30 
