OLD FRIENDS IN NEW PLACES 



on every one of them. Rarely is a single hair out of 

 place. 



How wise the white-throats are about cracked 

 corn, taking nothing above a certain size! They 

 pick up the larger pieces and test them with their 

 beaks and drop them, then pick them up and feel 

 them again to be quite sure they have made no mis- 

 take. Their little gizzards cannot grind the flinty 

 corn except when taken in very small bits. The 

 fruit- and insect-eating birds that sometimes come 

 about your door in winter or spring with the white- 

 throats will examine the seeds and bits of corn, but 

 will not eat them. One February a flock of white- 

 throats and juncoes came daily to the dooryard of a 

 friend of mine near New York City. She sprinkled 

 the ground with rolled oats and hominy grits and 

 her visitors made the most of her bounty. One 

 morning there was a newcomer — a thrush evi- 

 dently hard put for food. He hopped about amid the 

 feeding sparrows with drooping wings, picking up 

 the seeds and grains and dropping them again, ap- 

 parently wondering what the others found that was 

 so appetizing. The bird was in desperate straits; he 

 ate the snow, but I fancy it only aggravated his 

 hunger. 



The newcomer turned out to be a hermit thrush. 



I told my friend to take any dried fruit she happened 



to have — raisins, dried currants, dried cherries, or 



dried berries, and cut them up and sprinkle them 



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