i.iNxl THREE CHICKADEE FRIENDS 377 



AA\^ could not l^lamc FlufY>'. Had we not weakened many a 

 time in our efforts to maintain an attitude of severity and dis- 

 ap])ro\'al toward him? Jimmy certainly had an irresistible 

 wa\- of his own of disaiTQin<^ adverse criticism, however, just it 

 might be. If Fluffy had only chosen the more dependable vSammy 

 for her mate it might perhaps, have been easier for us to let her go; 

 but Fluft'y decided for herself, and we acquiesced not without 

 misgivings. 



The balcon}^ was a desolate place the first night that her branch 

 was empty. 



She came home to breakfast two mornings and we began to hope 

 that she would not go far away. On the third day, when one of 

 the family enquired anxiously of the earlier riser: "Did she come 

 this morning?" "I hoped you would not ask me," was the sorrow- 

 ful reply. 



Somewhere, perhaps, in a wayside thicket, or shadowy wood, 

 a little gray mother is feeding her hungry brood. Does she 

 dream, sometimes, of her winter home and friends, as she sits 

 on her nest in a hollow tree, guarding her treasure? 



Perhaps she tells bedtime stories to her sleepy fiuffballs of 

 the unfailing supph^ of crushed hemp seeds, and of cracked nuts 

 carefully picked out and broken for her. It is not tmlikely, 

 that in the joys and cares of family life she has quite forgotten us. 



Fluffy's branch is still in the porch roof. Her little house, 

 half hidden by woodbine leaves, has lost its appearance of newness, 

 and is mellowing in the sunshine and rain to a weather-stained 

 gray of which she would surely approve. 



Will she come back to us, who are watching eagerly for her? 

 Shall we hear her merry, brave "chickadee-dee-dee" in the garden 

 some cold December day, or better still, the patter of her little 

 feet on the window sill, and the indescribable sweetness of her 

 more intimate and confiding low notes, when we open the window 

 to greet her? 



Perhaps, remembering the shelter and abundance of her porch, 

 she will bring her children home some gray November afternoon, 

 and put them to bed in the twilight on her own favorite branch, 

 high up in the rafters. 



Even if she does not return to us, she has made us rich with 

 happy memories, and it will ever be the privilege of those who knew 

 and loved her to look upon every little winged creature with 

 sympathizing hearts and eyes which see more deeply for her sake . 



