stood. Near me was a solitary fir tree with a „ 



bushy top. The bird, whoever he was, had- 



gone to sleep up there, close against the cD7 



trunk, as birds do, for protection. During Ginsfmas 



the night the soft snow gathered thicker and 



thicker upon the flexible branches. Their 



tips bent with the weight till they touched 



the trunk below, forming a green bower, 



about which the snow packed all night long, 



till it was completely closed in. The bird 



was a prisoner inside, and singing as the 



morning sun shone in through the walls of 



his prison-house. 



As I listened, delighted with the carol 

 and the minstrel's novel situation, a mass of 

 snow, loosened by the sun, slid from the 

 snow bower, and a pine-grosbeak appeared 

 in the doorway. A moment he seemed to 

 look about curiously over the new, white, 

 beautiful world ; then he hopped to the 

 topmost twig and, turning his crimson 

 breast to the sunrise, poured out his morn- 

 ing song ; no longer muffled, but sweet 

 and clear as a wood-thrush bell ringing the 

 sunset. 



