ined in the distance, and a
goldfinch swinging overhead threaded the air with festoons of black and
gold. And here I witnessed a new and pretty antic of a tree sparrow,
which flew over from a cornfield hard by and perched on a dogwood
sapling only a few feet away; then it plunged its beak into the little
snowbank on the twig before it and ate greedily of the snow, some of
the crystals clinging to its mandibles, just as the crumbs adhere to
the lips of a hungry boy. Had the exclamation not been so much like
slang, I would have cried "Next!" And there was a "next," as sure as
you live, for the little bird soon flitted to another twig in the same
tree and, reaching up, daintily sipped from the dripping underside of
the branch just above and in front of it. Its thirst having been
assuaged, it flew over into the adjoining field to resume its winter
feast of seeds and berries.

And what was happening over in the field? Something worth noting, to
be sure. A coterie of juncos and tree sparrows were breakfasting on
the seeds of a clump of tall weeds, a few of the little feasters
perched on the swaying stems, while others stood on the snow on the
ground and picked the seeds from the racemes that were bent down by
their burden of crystals. When I went to the place, I could see the
delicate tracery of their feet on the snow, as if they had been writing
their autographs on an untarnished scroll. Two tiny footprints at
regular intervals, one a little before the other, and each pair
connected with the next by a slender thread or two traced by the bird's
claws--that is a junco's or a tree sparrow's trail in the snow.

A little later a scattering flock of tree sparrows were skipping about
on the snowy floor of the woods, picking up at quick intervals a
palatable tidbit. Birds often find edibles on the surface of the snow
when our duller eyes can see nothing but immaculate whiteness. What
long leaps the little birds took across the snow, which looked like a
marble pavement with fairies dancing upon it! Near by, on one of the
lower twigs of a thorn bush, a sparrow sat with feathers fluffed up and
wings hanging negligently at his side, as if he were taking a siesta
after a hearty meal of weed seeds and winter berries. Two of his
companions soon joined him in his noonday rest, the trio making a
pretty picture sitting there within an inch or two of the ground.

It was not very long before a tree sparrow perpetrated another
sur