6 ON THE BIRDS' HIGHWAY 



has crossed our path. From a few scat- 

 tered apple trees we hear the flicker call- 

 ing. These old trees are his best winter 

 friends and supply him with both food 

 and lodgings. The downy loves the 

 gnarled limbs also ; but his cousin the 

 hairy, at least about the more settled 

 country, prefers deeper woods. 



It will pay us to make a circuit through 

 the cedars before we cross the marsh and 

 the bridge, for the only common 

 winter warbler, the yellow rump 

 — and he is rare enough, — 

 often spends his long winter 

 days among their friendly em- 

 brace. If he is here, he is very 

 disobliging this forenoon. We 

 do not even see a blue jay about 

 the old hut ; if we were farther north we 

 would certainly see the other jay, — the 

 moose bird, by the door. 



The marsh is cold and drear now ; the 

 storm has left, however, great patches of 

 grass uncovered and the meadow lark is 

 difficult to flush to wing into the biting air 

 and settles down in the nearest cover 

 without a note. There is no loon in 

 sight either up or down the river to-day, 



