a great rate as they hunted for seeds.  It really did sound like talking – it reminded me of a school room when the teacher is absent – a steady low murmur.   For a closer look at them I climbed a fence and entered the brush.  The crackling of stalks and crunching of ice frightened them and as I went on, they ever kept the same distance ahead and when they came to the edge of the growth up they flew with angry chirpings back to the other side.  Seeing it was useless to following them I turned towards the creek where I heard several chickadees.  As I came up, they only repeated their “Ski-dee-dee-dee-dee” the faster.  What dainty vivacious little birds they are, with their jet black sleek heads, beautiful steel grey wings and yellow tinged whitish breast, as the dart from reed to reed!
     Covered Bridge was not far away, and so I turned and headed that direction.  Beyond the dense growth of weeds in a low level stretch of drained swampy land, generally the only different life being huge tufts of swamp grass, with tall milkweeds and rag weeds along the creek. – But in one place is a small collection of