he "advance-guard," as the
seven called themselves, kept the incident carefully to themselves,
and Mr. Curtis never told.

Long before this an ample supply of grain had been taken out to their
headquarters and several feeding-stations established in different
parts of the woods. These consisted mainly of rough shelters made of
saplings, hemlock boughs, or stacks of old corn-stalks, furnished by Mr.
Grimstone, in which the grain was scattered. There could be no question
of their value, for from the first the snow about them was covered
with bird-tracks of every variety. Before long, too, scouts visiting
these stations to replenish the supply reported that the birds were
growing noticeably tamer. Instead of flying off at the first sight of
the boys, they sat in the trees and bushes around the shelters with
an air almost of expectancy. Later they took to swooping down on the
grain the moment it was poured out, without waiting for the scouts
to move away. The climax came when one day Dale Tompkins excitedly
reported that: "A chickadee came and lit right on the bag to-day, sir.
He didn't seem a bit afraid, and only hopped off when I began to scatter
the grain."

"They'll do more than that if you treat them right," returned the
scoutmaster. "I've known of several cases where not only chickadees,
but wrens and juncos and snow-sparrows and even wilder birds have grown
so fearless that they've fed readily from the hand. Why don't you
fellows try it? The main thing is to get them used to your bringing
food to a certain place, and, when they're about, not to make any
sudden movement that might frighten them. It would be rather fun to
see how many varieties you could tame."

The idea met with general favor and when put into practice was remarkably
successful. There also developed not a little good-natured rivalry among
the boys as to which would first report the presence of a new bird at
the feeding-stations; all of which helped to keep up the interest in the
work and prevent it becoming monotonous and tiresome.

CHAPTER XIV

THE BOY WHO COULDN'T SWIM

The usual January thaw carried away most of the snow and made things
generally sloppy and unpleasant. But it was followed by another cold
snap, which put a glassy surface on the lake and drew the boys thither
in greater numbers than ever. Almost every afternoon as soon as school
was out a crowd of scouts, with skates slung about their necks and
hockey-sticks in hand,