154 OUR BIRDS IN WINTER. 
by some old maid, whose name was ^ Polly ; ’ 
for in the midst of their profanity they would 
exclaim, ^ Oh, pretty Polly, pretty Polly ! 
Will Polly have a cracker ? ’ and then they 
would open their huge mouths, and show their 
black, hard tongues. Never, so long as I live, 
shall I forget those demons ; for they were 
nothing else. Then there were some birds, 
noisy wretches they were, clad in sober gray 
apparel, who had the most remarkable faculty 
for imitating the songs of other birds that I 
ever heard of. 
All day long would they stand on their 
perches and sing. Sometimes they would caw 
like a crow, then scream like a hawk, then 
like an owl. Sometimes their song was like a 
sparrow ; then like old Chick-a-dee’s here.” 
Like mine ? ” interrupted Chick. Oh ! 
now we have caught you in a fib ; for I never 
saw such birds, and they couldn’t of course 
learn my song.” Here he glanced in triumph 
at Crossbill. 
I can’t help that,” responded the other in 
a similar manner ; but it is a fact. I can’t. 
