4 OUR FEATHERED FRIENDS. 
was no fluff; the thrush knew that. It was 
a gnat, and in a few seconds it was joined by 
other gnats, all dancing together in a mazy 
column just as if it was a hot summer’s day, 
and not the worst end of winter at all. 
Wherefore did the thrush make a meal, for, 
hopping to the place, he found gnats settled 
motionless all about on the evergreen leaves 
where the sun filtered in, gleaming like a 
hundred shavings of mother-of-pearl as the 
light caught their wings. 
And close by, in a hole of the summer- 
house, the mouse showed him inadvertently 
a hoard of snails—all lumped in together they 
were—which he spent the remainder of the 
short day in hammering to pieces on a handy 
brick, and in eating. 
That night he slept soundly with two other 
thrushes in the laurels beside the south wall 
of the house, oblivious to snow and cold, and 
quite warm, because full-fed. But the other 
two were not warm or satisfied. 
Fate had shown them neither gnats nor 
snails, and when our thrush awoke next 
morning he found beside him two ‘sleeping 
partners,’ rigid and snow-covered and stiff. 
They had gone to their last roost, those 
others ; and he—went to feed the cat ! 
