THE BLACK-CAPPED CHICKADEE 317 



their peaceful ways and the liberality with which they 

 shared this meager meal. There was no quarreling over 

 which should get the best crumbs, and no matter how 

 anxious a bird was to feed he never failed to stop and sing 

 his thankfulness every few moments. When the last crumbs 

 were gone, away they whirled into the garden and began 

 picking over for the thousandth time every old sunflower 

 head and Indian lettuce plant in sight. I then conceived a 

 great admiration for these happy little birds. Talk about 

 bravery, I know of nothing more courageous than these tiny 

 feathered creatures which defy the winter's snow and ice 

 where the temperature falls to twenty or more degrees be- 

 low zero rather than forsake the home they love. I have 

 never seen a winter so cold that many chickadees did not 

 remain with us, and I have never seen them when they were 

 not apparently as active and as happy as in the summer 

 time. 



That was the winter I have already mentioned in this 

 book when the snow was so deep that we could drive any- 

 where we pleased over fences and creeks. This incident 

 of the crumbs gave me an idea and, after talking the 

 matter over with mother, she gave me permission to feed 

 these birds every day. So after that memorable forenoon 

 the crumbs from the table were always placed either on the 

 window sill or scattered on the snow. Somewhere, I read 

 a little story about putting out a sheaf of wheat for the 

 birds at Christmas, but it seemed to me that if this was a 

 fine thing for Christmas it must be equally desirable every 

 day. We did not have any sheaves of wheat, but our barn 

 floor was usually covered several inches deep with chaff and 

 in this there was not only an abundance of timothy and 

 clover seed but a good many grains of wheat as well. After 



