“Do come with us,” begged Roger again, who always found a double pleasure in having Dorothy attend them on any venture.
“I don’t know. You boys have grown so you can keep ahead of me,” laughed Dorothy. “Where are you going—how far?”
“Up to Snake Hill—there by the gully. Mr. Garry Knapp showed us last week,” Joe said. “He says he always feeds the birds in the winter time out where he lives.”
Dorothy smiled and nodded. “I should presume he did,” she said. “He is that kind—isn’t he, boys?”
“He’s bully,” said Roger, with enthusiasm.
“What kind?” asked Joe, with some caution.
“Just kind,” laughed Dorothy. “Kind to everybody and everything. Birds and all,” she said. But to herself she thought: “Kind to everybody but poor little me!”
However, she went on with her brothers. They plowed through the drifts in the back road, but found the going not as hard as in the woods. The tramp to the edge of the gully into which the boys had come so near to plunging on their sled weeks before, was quite exhausting.
This distant spot had been selected because of the number of birds that always were to be found here, winter or summer. The undergrowth was thick and the berries and seeds tempted many of the songsters and bright-plumaged birds to remain beyond the usual season for migration.
Then it would be too late for them to fly South had they so desired. Now, with the heavy snow heaped upon everything edible, the feathered creatures were going to have a time of famine if they were not thought of by their human neighbors.