Sparrows and chicadees are friendly little things and will keep close to human habitations in winter; but the bluejay, that saucy rascal, is always shy. He and his wilder brothers must be fed in the woods.
There were the tracks of the birds—thousands and thousands of tracks about the gully. Roger began to throw out the grain, scattering it carefully on the snowcrust, while Joe climbed up the first tree with a lump of suet tied to a cord.
“I got to tie it high,” he told Dorothy, who asked him, “’cause otherwise, Mr. Knapp says, dogs or foxes, or such like, will get it instead of the birds.”
“Oh, I see,” Dorothy said. “Look where you step, Roger. See! the gully is level full of snow. What a drift!”
This was true. The snow lay in the hollow from twenty to thirty feet in depth. None of the Dales could remember seeing so much snow before.
Dorothy held the other pieces of suet for Joe while he climbed the second tree. It was during this process that she suddenly missed Roger. She could not hear him nor see him.
“Roger!” she called.
“What’s the matter with you?” demanded Joe tartly. “You’re scaring the birds.”
“But Roger is scaring me,” his sister told him. “Look, Joe, from where you are. Can you see him? Is he hiding from us?”
Joe gave a glance around; then he hastened to descend the tree.