BIRD PARADISE 211 



tells its own story, and tells it well. I listen 

 to the story, and someway the last one told seems 

 the best. Just now, the summing up of the 

 year, in common parlance, reads, " A tale that 

 is told." But a tale that is rightly told, when 

 one reaches the last word, opens simply to some- 

 thing higher and more precious. The leaves 

 that are all down from the trees tumble and 

 rustle about, but have their higher mission of 

 giving all their best to the new foliage that will 

 come with the spring time. The trees, themselves 

 bare and leafless, sway and bow in the winds, 

 and every movement breathes through the wood 

 the benediction of the ripeness and richness of 

 the year. 



I heard this morning the plaintive call of the 

 wood pewee. I have heard it oftener this season 

 than any previous winter that I remember. What 

 a sort of weird, weary note it is. It sounds as 

 one might imagine the bird to feel — all alone in 

 the snow and cold. This fellow belongs to the 

 fly-catcher family and in the summer feasts upon 

 the flies, which it catches on the wing. What it 

 uses in the winter for food I do not know, but 

 fancy he makes a virtue of necessity and lives 

 largely without eating. Curious that many mem- 



