BIRD PARADISE 241 



the west ruddy with the cold, but so elated with 

 it all that I fiud myself saying, " All the winds 

 of the sky-flelds clap their hands." Note this : 

 There is no scrap of time in the wide realm of 

 nature wasted. Every moment is saved, and 

 every day is Christmas Day. 



In the storm of snow the other morning I 

 was quite sure that I caught the notes of snow- 

 bunting's winter call. The wind was blowing a 

 gale, cold, keen and biting, and the snowflakes 

 filling the air — bunting's favorite weather. The 

 sounds indicated that a small flock of the birds 

 was riding on the wings of the wind, enjoying 

 themselves as only snowbirds can. I was in 

 hopes that they would drop down to the pastures 

 below, but they had other plans more to their 

 liking. I have no doubt but that the flock I 

 heard had been on the wing all night long. 

 While our hill residents were courting "balmy 

 sleep" the buntings were courting the winds — 

 greeting them as hale fellows well met. What 

 an experience they passed through. Prom far 

 away to the north they had taken their wonderful 

 trolley the evening before and the long journey 

 of hundreds of miles had been the merest pastime 



