THE ARCTIC VISITORS.

"Help me catch these wounded ones!" cried Tug, dancing round in chase of several wing-tipped and lame birds that were floundering in the snow.

The others rushed after them too, and it was exciting sport, for the chase often led them into deep drifts and down the scraggy sides of the hummock; it thus became the scene of many comical tumbles and failures, for several of the birds, having been shot as they crowded together in a bunch, were only slightly wounded, and able to make a vigorous attempt to escape. Rex took part also, but his work consisted chiefly in barking himself hoarse, for all he accomplished was the finding of one dead bird; and this, as he was not a retriever, he devoured on the spot.

When, panting, red-faced, and tired out, they gathered again at the door, they counted up seventeen fat buntings and one long-spur as the result of the three shots. Three of these were badly mangled, and were given to Rex; the others they began at once to make into a stew for supper, which they always ate about sundown. This meal also took the place of a dinner, as they ate only "a bite" at noon.

While they were plucking the birds—and their bodies seemed wofully small when the thick coat of feathers had been removed—they asked Tug many questions about the buntings. He could not answer all of them, but the substance of what he told them was this:

The snow-buntings—white snow-birds, or snow-flakes—belong to the far northern regions, where they go in summer to make their nests, often within the arctic circle. As soon as their young are able to fly they must begin their southward migration, for the excessive cold and the deep snow cut off all the grass-seeds, mosses, and insects upon which they feed in summer. So they begin to spread southward, not into British America alone, but also into Lapland and Russia, and the lower parts of Siberia. The bird seems to be a lover of cold, and used to scant fare and the roughest climate. It is not always, therefore, that they are to be seen in the United States south of the Great Lakes.

Around these lakes, however, they are likely to come in large flocks after a cold snap or a deep fall of snow. The wild rice tracts and frozen marshes afford them an abundance of seeds and dried berries, upon which they grow fat. Though seeming less in danger than most other birds, since our hawks are gone southward, these buntings are exceedingly restless and timid, which makes them scurry away at the least alarm. Yet their timidity is not enough to insure their safety, for though they are constantly rising up and settling again, their flights are so short and uncertain that, as we have seen, a good marksman has no difficulty in shooting them. They are so small, however, that in this country of large game-birds they are never shot for food unless a necessity like the present one compels it. With the first bit of warm weather the snow-buntings and their companions, the long-spurs, whirl away to the bleak northward, crowding close upon the heels of Winter as he retreats to his polar stronghold.

In the cool mountainous parts of the Far West there are several species of birds closely akin to the snow-flake, whose summer homes are among the peaks. They belong to the same genus (Plectrophanes), but none of them are so white as the Eastern bunting; in fact, like the ptarmigan, he is pure white only in midwinter, changing in summer to a dress much mottled with warm brown and black, traces of which remain in his winter hood and collar.

"What do you suppose brought the snow-flakes away out hither on the ice?" Tug was asked.

"Oh, we're not so far from land—though we might as well be a hundred miles away for all the good it will do us!—and I suppose they were flying across to the marshes and islands on the north shore. Probably our smoke attracted them."

Having got done with their birds, the boys returned to their chopping. Two or three large pieces were hacked out as back-logs to build their fire upon, instead of making it right on the ice; and since this last load was not needed in the wall, which had been banked up anew, it was spread around on the floor of the house to lift their canvas carpet above the chilly and often wet floor, for the weather was not cold enough now to keep it frozen always hard and dry under the tent.

Evening came, and with it a feeling of homelike comfort queer to think about, yet not quite impossible under the circumstances, forlorn and dangerous as they were. The boys perched themselves on the gunwale of the boat, and watched Katy making snow-bird stew and steeping the fragrant tea.

Then, how good it tasted! What a royal change from steady bacon and crackers, or tough dried beef, and water!

"I wonder if they'll come again?" said Aleck, examining his friend's gun. "Costs a heap o' powder, though, and the noise scares them. Say, Tug, don't you know how to build traps?"

"I could make a figure four," piped Jim, "if I had the box."

"Guess we could manage that. Ugh! what a frightful smoke!"

"I should say so," added Katy, rubbing her smarting eyes. "I think, if you would punch a hole under the wall, there would be a better draught. That hole in the corner of the roof don't make a very fine chimney."

Tug took his ramrod and worked the snow away from a crevice at the foot of the wall, near the floor. The cooler air outside sucked in to take the place of the heated air within, which ascended to the hole at the edge of the roof, and a draught was set in motion, taking enough of the smoke out to make the place endurable while they ate their supper.

How good that bird soup was! And what fun they had, eating it out of their tin cups with wooden spoons! There was only one bowl for the tea, which had to be passed around for each to drink from in turn. They forgot their difficulties for a little while, and were as merry as anybody could be. All at once Katy stopped short in a laugh, with an exclamation of astonishment:

"I do believe we've never one of us thought what day it is! This is Christmas eve!"

The evening was given to chatting, as they sat in the darkness half illumined by the red embers of their fire, for they wanted to save their lantern oil, and would not allow themselves to burn it uselessly; nor was it late when they went to sleep.