rees.

While, in the spring and summer, birds are to be found in nearly every
part of the woods, never many at one place, the opposite condition
prevails in the winter. Sometimes you may walk almost a half mile
without seeing or hearing a single bird; then you suddenly come upon a
good-sized company of them, somewhat scattered, it is true, but within
easy hailing distance. Nor do they always remain in the same
localities, but move about, now here, now there, like nomads looking
for the best foraging places. For instance, on the first of January,
after leaving the city, I saw not a bird until I reached a pleasant
sylvan hollow at least a half mile away. Here a merry crowd greeted
the pedestrian. It was composed of all the birds I have just named,
with flocks of bluebirds and goldfinches thrown in for good measure.
On the fourteenth of January a company--either the same or another--was
found in a small copsy hollow only a quarter of a mile from the city,
while the spot previously occupied was deserted. It is pleasant to
think of these feathered troopers roaming about the country in search
of Nature's choicest storehouses. The code that obtains in these
movable birdvilles is this, as near as I am able to analyze it: Each
one for himself, and yet all for one another.

The familiar adage, "Birds of a feather flock together," is not always
true, for in winter birds of many a feather often flock together. It
may be asked, Why? No doubt largely for social ends. Nothing is more
evident to the observer than that most birds love company, and a good
deal of it. Their genial conversation among themselves as they pursue
their work and play fully proves that. Another object is undoubtedly
protection. Birds have enemies, many of them, and when the woods are
bare there is little chance for hiding, and so they must be especially
on the alert. Let a hawk come gliding silently and slyly down the
vale, and before he gets too near some keen little eye espies him, the
alarm is sounded, and the whole company scurries into the thickets or
trees for safety. The chickadees and titmice seem to be a sort of
sentry for the company.

A large part of the time in birdland is spent in solving the
"bread-and-butter" problem. And how do our feathered citizens solve
this important problem in the cold weather? Nature has spread many a
banquet for her avian children, although they must usually rustle for
their food just as we must in the