DAME NATURE AND HER CHILDREN 
of our laid-up stores; and then think how un- 
equipped are the wild creatures in comparison. 
Look at the snow buntings in winter, so trium- 
phant over storm and cold, or the tiny chickadees in 
the frozen winter woods. They know where to look 
for their food, what to do by day, and where to go by 
night. They know their enemies; they know where 
and how to build their nests, and how to rear their 
young; they know all they have to know in order 
to live their lives. 
When I see a chickadee or a kinglet come to the 
bit of suet that I put out on the trunk of the old 
maple in front of my window in December, I say, 
“See that infant! How can he face all alone the 
season of scarcity and cold?”’ But he does not need 
coaching from me; he avails himself of my suet, but 
he would get on without it. He is wise in his own 
economies. I doubt that our winter birds ever 
freeze or starve, unless in extraordinary circum- 
stances. 
When I see a band of robins in late October dis- 
porting in my vineyards, filled with holiday cheer 
and hilarity, calling, singing, squealing, pursuing 
one another like children in some sort of game, 
apparently not at all disturbed by the approach 
of the inclement season and the failure of their food- 
supplies, I almost envy them their felicity. They 
are wise without reason, happy without forethought, 
secure without rulers or safeguards of any sort. 
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