28o 



THE GUIDE TO NATURE 



secured in this way. "Pose," suggest- 

 ing as it does the patience of an art- 

 ist's model, is scarcely a happy word 

 for this bird's momentary attitudes. 



This relentlessness probably has not 

 a little to do with the fact already men- 

 tioned, their greater apparent abun- 



dance at this season than at others. 

 Being "everywhere at once," a few 

 chickadees in winter will seem to make 

 a small wood populous with their 

 numbers. It is but a poor stick of a 

 wood, and certainly a forsaken and for- 

 bidding one, that can boast not even a 

 single titmouse to relieve the monot- 

 ony of its general bareness, the sighing 

 of its hemlocks and pines, or the cold 

 rattle of its skeleton branches. 



Tameness in a bird or other animal 

 may be pleasing, even when it is the 

 result of training, but how delightful 

 the entirely natural tameness of chick- 

 adees ! 



He is as bold in his way as any 

 sparrow of the street, with none of 

 the latter's fox-like guardedness and 

 stealth. One of them, having just got 

 into a trap-cage set for blue jays, called 

 out his "dee-dee-dee," merry as you 

 please, even while I was taking him 

 out, and didn't he fall to eating tne 

 bait through the wire bottom of his 

 late prison while, with one hand in- 

 side and only a font from him, I was 

 resetting: it ! 



after they had found this food station, 

 I walked quietly up to one of the feed- 

 ing birds by way of experiment. With- 

 out once leaving the food, he con- 

 tinued to peck away, until finally 1 

 felt his bill touch my finger as it rested 

 on the lump of meat. From the first 

 they were not disturbed by my pres- 

 ence at the window, continuing their 

 feast while I scraped the frost from 

 the glass for a better look. 



They will even fly to the window 

 sash a few r inches from my face, with 

 evidence of having been stopped only 

 by the glass from perching on my nose. 

 T have really been forced to believe 

 ;hat they rather like to see me. They 

 are always up and about before I am 

 out in the morning, their insistent 

 "dee-dee-dees" sounding like a sum- 

 mons. 



Let no one imagine that this bird 

 has only the notes which have earned 

 him his name. Like many other birds. 

 chickadee has his everyday, undertone 

 whistle for general use. It is this that 



To my cabin in the woods they 

 come many times daily, to eat from a 

 piece of beef suet which I keep a few 

 feet out from my south window. Soon 



we hear as he teeds along, or at dusk 

 searches for a place in which to spend 

 the night, apparently the sum of his 

 usual winter activities. It indicates that 

 there is a fair head of steam on and 

 that all is well. To his messmates it 

 probably says. "Hello?" or "words to 

 that effect." The reply is the same as 

 the query and so small talk goes on 

 all day long. They seem like children 

 reassuring one another on the dark 

 stairs. ( )nlv, the chickadees' fears are 

 well grounded enough, and many a 

 time no doubt, one or the other of 

 the little lisps drop out, apprising the 

 rest of the company that a shrike or 

 'other highwayman of the wild is about. 

 Probably, however, even the shrike 

 seldom consummates his purpose be- 

 fore word of his presence has been 

 passed ; for the chickadee has a special 

 alarm note, the effect of which I have 

 often observed on his fellows. A prac- 



