poor seeds of the ragweed. But the good sun is a 

 trusty friend, and snow is only so much water. 

 Presently berries and acorns again come into view. 



There is no more touching note in nature than 

 the bob-white's at this season, as wandering to- 

 gether in the snow in search of their scanty fare 

 they utter from time to time those low but distindt 

 calls in which they seemingly express their solici- 

 tude. June itself has no sweeter song than this 

 note of the winter woods, albeit it is such a 

 plaintive one : mother-notes these, and child-voices 

 of the hunted, full of a wild pathos, — tender 

 voices which to us have been but the inarticulate 

 cries of the dumb. The birds feed frequently on 

 the crushed acorns lying in the path, and the jay 

 at times participates to the extent of taking an 

 acorn from the feast and eating it in the branches 

 above, where he is a good sentinel, though prone 

 to imitate the quailing of the red-shouldered hawk 

 when the feast is at its height, to the general dis- 

 comfiture and alarm of the diners below. 



Birds become less suspicious as the mercury 

 falls, and they are hard pressed for food. The 

 snow around the ragweeds is thickly covered with 

 the tracks of bob-whites, like those of chickens, 



i6i 



