And when at the end of
January the occasional sunbeams give some faint hope of spring, he
wanders through the lanes carrying a decoy bird in a darkened cage, and
a few boughs of privet studded with black berries and bound round with
rushes for the convenience of handling.
The female yellow-hammers, whose hues are not so brilliant as those of
the male birds, seem as winter approaches to flock together, and roam
the hedges and stubble fields in bevies. Where loads of corn have passed
through gates the bushes often catch some straws, and the tops of the
gateposts, being decayed and ragged, hold others. These are neglected
while the seeds among the stubble, the charlock, and the autumn
dandelion are plentiful and while the ears left by the gleaners may
still be found. But in the shadowless winter days, hard and cold, each
scattered straw is sought for.
A few days before the new year [1879] opened I saw a yellow-hammer
attacking, in a very ingenious manner, a straw that hung pendent, the
ear downwards, from the post of a windy gateway. She fluttered up from
the ground, clung to the ear, and outspread her wings, keeping them
rigid. The draught acted on the wings, just as the breeze does on a
paper kite, and there the bird remained supported without an effort
while the ear was picked. Now and then the balance was lost, but she was
soon up again, and again used the wind to maintain her position.
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