The older people about her were, of course, sympathetic. She would have been glad to get away from them for that very reason. Whenever Tavia looked at her Dorothy saw commiseration in her eyes. So, too, with Aunt Winnie and the major. Dorothy turned with relief to her brothers who had not much thought for anything but fun and frolic. Joe and Roger had quite fallen in love with Garry Knapp and talked a good deal about him. But their talk was innocent enough and was not aimed at her. They had not discovered—as they had regarding Jennie Hapgood and Ned—that their big sister was in the toils of this strange new disease that seemed to have smitten the young folk at The Cedars. On this very day that Tavia had elected to go to town and Nat had driven her in the cutter, Dorothy put on her wraps for a tramp through the snow. As she started toward the back road she saw Joe and Roger coming away from the kitchen door, having been whisked out by the cook. “Take it all and go and don’t youse boys be botherin’ me again to-day—and everything behind because of the wash,” cried Mary, as the boys departed. “What have you been bothering Mary for?” asked Dorothy, hailing her brothers. “Suet,” said Joe. “Oh, do come on, Sister,” cried the eager Roger. “We’re going to feed ’em.” “Feed what?” asked Dorothy. “The bluejays and the clapes and the snow buntings,” Roger declared. “With suet?” “That’s for the jays,” explained Joe. “We’ve got plenty of cracked corn and oats for the little birds. You see, we tie the chunks of suet up in the trees—and you ought to see the bluejays come after it!” “Do come with us,” begged Roger again, who always found a double pleasure in having Dorothy attend them on any venture. “I don’t know. You boys have grown so you can keep ahead of me,” laughed Dorothy. “Where are you going—how far?” “Up to Snake Hill—there by the gully. Mr. Garry Knapp showed us last week,” Joe said. “He says he always feeds the birds in the winter time out where he lives.” Dorothy smiled and nodded. “I should presume he did,” she said. “He is that kind—isn’t he, boys?” “He’s bully,” said Roger, with enthusiasm. “_What_ kind?” asked Joe, with some caution. “Just kind,” laughed Dorothy. “Kind to everybody and everything. Birds and all,” she said. But to herself she thought: “Kind to everybody but poor little me!” However, she went on with her brothers. They plowed through the drifts in the back road, but found the going not as hard as in the woods. The tramp to the edge of the gully into which the boys had come so near to plunging on their sled weeks before, was quite exhausting. This distant spot had been selected because of the number of birds that always were to be found here, winter or summer. The undergrowth was thick and the berries and seeds tempted many of the songsters and bright-plumaged birds to remain beyond the usual season for migration.