8 After the Snow. 



The crows step about circumspectly in the open. The 

 snow-birds sing a quaint little warble. Sometimes, as if by 

 mutual agreement, they fly from the ground where they 

 have been hunting, to the trees, and one sees that they are 

 on the constant watch for enemies. Their flesh-tinted bills 

 show plainly against their slate-colored heads and upper 

 breast, and all the day they may linger about a single 

 patch of woods — under the pines and cedars. Their 

 colors are intensified now ; a few, perhaps from ill-health, 

 are not quite so bright as the others. When they come to 

 drink at a pool only six feet away, their attire seems 

 quaintly neat. It is impressive that nature makes a thou- 

 sand coats that agree in stripe and feather, and also is 

 creative of countless variations of the same general form. 



Nearly all of the pine seeds have fallen, but a few 

 remain at the base of the cones, tucked away mid the 

 lamellae. These the yellow-birds discover, pull them from 

 their hiding, take the seeds from their clasps, and the 

 " wings " come falling down. If a cone is rapped sharply 

 the perfect seeds tumble out, falling at first quite fast, until 

 the rotary motion reaches its maximum, when they go 

 spinning around, looking much like flying insects — day-flies 

 with gauzy wings. A shot, that was perhaps aimed at a 

 robin, falls from the cone with the seeds. It started on its 

 journey with much noise and smoke, and now, six months 

 after, completes its course and drops gently to the ground. 



This morning the hill-side was white with the snow, 

 but now there are only patches left, and their edges move 

 like the hands of a clock. We look away and then look 

 back again, after a time, and see that they have moved, 



