About the size of an English sparrow, of a brick or Indian red color, for the
most part, the peculiarity of its parrot-like beak is its certain mark of
identification.
Longfellow has rendered into verse the German legend of the crossbill, which
tells that as the Saviour hung upon the cross, a little bird tried to pull out
the nails that pierced His hands and feet, thus twisting its beak and staining
its feathers with the blood.
At first glance the birds would seem to be hampered by their crossed beaks in
getting at the seeds in the pine cones -- a superficial criticism when the
thoroughness and admirable dexterity of their work are better understood.
Various seeds of fruits, berries, and the buds of trees enlarge their bill of
fare. They are said to be inordinately fond of salt. Mr. Romeyn B. Hough tells
of a certain old ice-cream freezer that attracted flocks of crossbills one
winter, as a salt-lick attracts deer. Whether the traditional salt that may
have stuck to the bird's tail is responsible for its tameness is not related,
but it is certain the crossbills, like most bird visitors from the far north,
are remarkably gentle, friendly little birds. As they swing about the pine
trees, parrot-fashion, with the help of their bill, calling out kimp, kimp,
that sounds like the snapping of the pine cones on a sunny day, it often seems
easily possible to catch them with the hand.
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