The leaves were gone from the trees and the flowers from the hedge. The birds too were gone, that is to say the more important ones; they had all departed for the South.
But some, of course, had remained behind.
There was the everlasting sparrow, for instance, and the nimble little titmouse, besides the crow and the raven, who looked twice as black and hungry against the snow. There were also a few birds who preferred to take the rough with the smooth rather than travel so far afield.
Down on the beach there was more life than in summer.
There were the gulls who plunged about, in great flocks, wherever a hole had been made in the ice. And there were the wild-duck, who swam in the open water and quacked and dived and flew up whenever a shot was heard from the fishermen’s guns.
“What a crowd!” said the sparrow.
“They come from the North,” said the gull. “From Norway and the Faroe Islands, where it is a hundred times colder than here. As soon as there is the least bit of a change in the temperature, they fly back again. Do you know those two who are coming this way over the ice?”
“How should I know them?” said the sparrow. “I was born last summer and I only wish I were back in the nest!”
“They are eider-ducks,” said the gull. “Look, there’s one more coming.”
So there was. And he was a very handsome bird. He had a green neck, a white throat and a white breast, with a pink sheen on it, and lovely yellow legs.