“Ilk happing bird—wee, helpless thing!—
·······
What comes o’ thee?
Whare wilt thou cow’r thy chittering wing,
An’ close thy e’e?”
Did you ever ask yourself the question? Go forth, then, as the dusk begins to fall one of these chill winter days and try to see “what comes o’” the birds, where they sleep these winter nights. You will find an account of my own watching in a chapter called “Birds’ Winter Beds” in “Wild Life Near Home.”
VII
You will come back from your watching in the dusk with the feeling that a winter night for the birds is unspeakably dreary, perilous, and chill. You will close the door on the darkness outside with a shiver as much from dread as from the cold.
“List’ning the doors an’ winnocks rattle,”—