THE SUMMIT OF THE YEARS 



string. In my hand it seemed as cold as if dead. 

 Close scrutiny showed that it breathed at intervals, 

 very slowly. The embers of life were there, but slum- 

 bering beneath the ashes. I put it in my pocket and 

 went about my work. After a Uttle time, remember- 

 ing my mouse, I put my hand into my pocket and 

 touched something very warm and lively. The em- 

 ber had been fanned into a flame, so to speak. I kept 

 my captive in a cage a day or two and then returned 

 it to the woods, where I trust it found a safe retreat 

 against the cold. 



VII. A FEATHERED BANDIT 



One day as I sat at my desk I caught a glimpse 

 of swiftly moving wings about the trunk of a large 

 maple that stands in front of my window. A second 

 glance showed me a shrike, or butcher-bird, pursuing 

 some small bird round the tree. Rushing to the 

 door, I saw that the pursued was a brown creeper 

 and that the little bird was taxing its wit and its 

 wings to the utmost to avoid being seized by the 

 shrike. Its obvious tactics were to keep the trunk 

 of the tree between it and its enemy. As the creeper 

 spends most of its time on the trunks of trees seek- 

 ing its minute food, it is entirely at home there. Its 

 protective coloration, as it is called, is supposed to 

 be of great service in concealing it from its enemies, 

 but it seemed to avail it little in the present case. 



When the shrike lost sight of it for a moment as 

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