I would not have exchanged places with them for the world. But
my older comrades assured me the jays were not in need of my sympathy
or pity. They liked the invigorating cold and chattered merrily in the
desolate boughs and enjoyed many a nice meal from under the melting
snow. The crimson dogwood berries, standing out like rosettes of
coral, at which they liked to peck, also furnished them an aesthetic
and sumptuous feast. Much more to be dreaded than the winter's cold
was the cruel sportsman, said my comrades.
The day of our departure came. The concourse of birds setting out on
their annual journeys was immense, and oh, what joy it was to soar
aloft on buoyant pinion high up in the blue sky, over housetops and
tops of trees, skimming along above rushing waters or tranquil streams
in quiet meadows. Mere existence was a keen delight. The sense of
freedom, of lightness, of airiness, was gloriously exhilarating, a
delicious sensation known only to the feathered tribes of all God's
creation.
Our trip took us across some densely wooded mountains, where we rested
for a time. A thick undergrowth of young saplings prevented any roads,
and only occasional narrow footpaths showed that people sometimes
passed that way.
The mountain was grand in its loneliness; but doubtless was a desolate
spot to the settlers, whose cabins were scattered at long distances
from each other in the depths of the wood.
Pages:
41
42
43
44
45
46
47
48
49
50
51
52
53
54
55
56
57
58
59
60
61
62
63
64
65