CHICK, D.D. 



'^ Chick, D.D./' as he came. The clear cold air and the 

 exercise of flying after his night's sleep had given Chick 

 a good healthy appetite, and he had come out for his 

 breakfast. 



He liked eggs very well, and there were, as he knew, 

 plenty of them on the birch trees, for many a time he 

 had breakfasted there. Eggs with shiny black shells, 

 not so big as the head of a pin; so wee, indeed, that it 

 took a hundred of them or more to make a meal for even 

 little Chick. 



But he was n't lazy. He did n't have to have eggs 

 cooked and brought to his table. He loved to hunt for 

 them, and they were never too cold for him to relish; so 

 out he came to the birch trees, with a cheery ''Chick, 

 D.D.," as if he were saying grace for the good food 

 tucked here and there along the branches. 



When he alighted, though, it was n't the bark he 

 found, but a hard, thick coating of ice. The branches 

 rattled together as he moved among them and the icicles 

 that dangled down rang and clicked as they struck one 

 another. The ice-storm had locked in Chick's breakfast 

 eggs, and, try as he would with his little beak, he could 

 n't get through to find them. 



So Chick's Christmas Day began with hardship : for, 

 though he sang gayly through the coldest weather, he 

 needed food to keep him strong and warm. He was not 



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