oor.

Yes, that was the Farmer Boy going away with a clatter
over the snow-crust; but who were these coming through
the air, with jerky flight, and with a jerky note something like
"Twitterty-twit-twitterty-twit-twitterty-twitterty-twitterty-twit"? They
flew like goldfinches, and they sounded like goldfinches, both in the
twitterty song of their flight and their "Tweeet" as they called one
another. But they were not goldfinches. Oh, my, no! For they were
dressed in gray, with darker gray stripes at their sides; and when they
scrambled twittering down low enough to show their heads in the
sunlight, they could be seen to be wearing the loveliest of crimson
caps, and some of them had rosy breasts.

The redpolls had come! And they found on top of the snow a pile of dusty
sweepings from the hay-mow, with grass-seeds in it and some cracked corn
and crumbs. And there were squash-seeds, and sunflower-seeds, and seedy
apple-cores that had been broken up in the grinder used to crunch bones
for the chickens; and there were prune-pits that had been cracked with a
hammer.

The joy-songs of the birds over the suet and seeds seemed a signal
through the countryside; and before long others came, too.

Among them there was a black-and-white one, with a patch of scarlet on
the back of his head, who called, "Ping," as if he were speaking through
his nose. There was one with slender bill and bobbed-off tail, black
cap and white breast, grunting, "Yank yank," softly, as he ate.

But there was none to come who was braver or happier than Chick, D.D.,
and none who sang so gayly. After that good Christmas feast he and his
flock returned each day; and when, in due time, the ice melted from the
branches, it wasn't just suet they ate. It was other things, too.

That is how it happened that when, early in the spring, the Farmer Boy
examined the apple-twigs, to see whether he should put on a nicotine
spray for the aphids and an arsenical spray for the tent caterpillars,
he couldn't find enough aphids to spray or enough caterpillars, either.
Chick, D.D. and his flock had eaten their eggs.

Again, late in the summer, when it was time for the yellow-necked
caterpillars, the red-humped caterpillars, the tiger caterpillars, and
the rest of the hungry crew, to strip the leaves from the orchard, the
Farmer Boy walked among the rows, to see how much poison he would need
to buy for the August spray. And again he found that he needn't buy a
single poun