As the harsh, aggressive ice closes in about the open 
spaces in the bay the food problem grows more and 
more difficult for lingering flocks. Red-heads, Blue- 
bills, Co ween, and a few Whistle-wings flaunt the cold 
and defy the niggardliness of the frozen north in 
covering up her few remaining stores of food. There 
are a few roots and some worms for the more dainty 
feeders, with here and there a bunch of pond grass 
rising from the bottom, and the omnivorous Coween 
find small fish in the open water. Snails lodged in the 
green vegetation on submerged and decaying timbers 
are not rejected. Still the food problem presses with 
greater and greater intensity, and the small flocks 
hurry back and forth between the ice-girt opening 
in the bay and the broad, cold, turbulent expanse of 
the lake. Their swift, quivering wings and steady, 
lowering course as they seek the dull grey enshrouding 
distance make a marked contrast to the leisurely 
soaring Gulls, at home in all places and seasons, 
pursuing seemingly purposeless courses and settling 
down wherever the buoyant water carries an acci- 
230 
