Identifier: cu31924000168892 (find matches)
Title: Birds of song and story
Year: 1901 (1900s)
Authors: Grinnell, Elizabeth, 1851- Grinnell, Joseph, 1877-1939. joint author
Subjects: Birds
Publisher: Chicago, A. W. Mumford
Contributing Library: Cornell University Library
Digitizing Sponsor: MSN

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Text Appearing Before Image:
ocksin the woods; the evergreens shading the rocks lost theirwhite load that had been bearing down the branches for amonth; the fences straggled their lean legs wide apart, as if itwere summer, only the tips of their toes resting on the surfacesnow; the north roof of the barn fringed itself with iciclesthat tumbled down by noon, sticking up at the base of thebarn in the drifts head foremost; the top dressing of whitepowder that for weeks had adorned the woodpiles sifteddown through the sticks in a wet scramble for the bottom.All around the farm the buntings had picked the snow off,making the fields look as if brown mats were spread all overthe floor. But yesterday the south wind puckered up its lipsand blew all over everything in sight, and the brown matsdisappeared, or rather, grew into one big one. The cows inthe barn-yard look longingly over the fence toward the pas-ture, and the fowls take a longer walk than they have daredfor months, away out in the garden, where lopping brown 94
Text Appearing After Image:
The Bluebird 95 vines and nude bush stalks bear witness to what they havesuffered. The sun shines across the dooryard as it hasnt shone forso long, making a thin coat of mud just at the edge of thechips and around the doorsteps. But what matters? Thechildren run in and out, tracking up the clean floors, takingtheir scolding with good cheer. Isnt spring here? and dontthey hear the bluebirds note in the orchard? Run! run! and put up some more little boxes on the shedand the fence-posts. Clean out the last years nests in thehollow trees. Tell the old cat to keep mum and lielow, or she will be put in a bag and dropped to the bottomof the very first hole in the ice. Cats are all right in the deadof winter, when Old Boreas is frantic in his annual mad fit.She can sit on the rug and purr to her hearts content; butwhen the bluebirds come, if she bethinks herself of the fact,and sharpens her claws against the trunk of a cherry-tree, shewould better look out. When the old cat sharpens her claws

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