A Chickadee Home 223 



the circumstances he ought either to work or sing, and he was certainly 

 making his best effort at song. 



Nearly every morning, about 6 o'clock, I would hear the plaintive phoebe 

 call note of these birds. Many mistake it for the note of the Phoebe. I call it 

 plainti\e, for by this note a friend of mine is always moved to sadness, and 

 wishes the bird would go away. It is not exactly a call note, for it is as often 

 given when the birds are together as when they are apart. To me, among all 

 bird notes it is peculiar in this respect: it never commands one's mood, but 

 reflects it. If he is sad, it makes him sadder; if he is joyful, it is full of cheer. 



Every few days, by taking out the screws, I opened the front door to the 

 nest — or, more accurately, removed the side of the house. By April 25, there 

 had been laid an inch-thick foundation of rope and other fibers; above this, 

 full two inches of moss, quite damp; and on top of this, and sunken somewhat 

 into it, an incomplete felted nest of cowhair, woolly materials, and a few horse- 

 hairs. For several days I had not seen the birds enter the nest, though they 

 would occasionally light at the door, and I wondered if the nest were aban- 

 doned. The explanation was found in their method of building the felted 

 nest, which was to throw the soft materials in by billfuUs, and let it pile up 

 until the nest was running over. Then the bird entered, arranged the material, 

 and packed it down with her Uttle body. When the nest was completed, this 

 felt work was a good half-inch thick, and quite firm, while the nest was three 

 inches deep, so deep that the little bird did not more than half fill it. Later, 

 when she brooded her eggs, her tail stood almost straight up on one side, 

 while her bill barely tipped the rim on the other. Usually six or seven eggs 

 are laid, and unless the nest were deep some of the young would be crowded 

 out. 



On May 6, the nest held six eggs. I am sure that it was not six days since 

 the last time I examined the nest. I did not note the date, because the nest 

 held loose materials, as it had for several examinations; but I suspect that 

 this loose material was used to cover the eggs until the whole clutch should 

 be laid, lest some enemy — perhaps a snake — entering during the bird's absence, 

 should destroy them. 



On the day after the discovery of the eggs, I set my camera for a photo- 

 graph of the little mother, arranging everything, and even focusing on my 

 knife stuck in the side of the tree, before opening the door. When all was 

 ready, the door was removed slowly and with utmost care. The shutter 

 cHcked, and back again went the door just as carefully. Hurrah! I had a 

 photograph of a Chickadee on her nest, a treasure I had sought for years. 

 But next day, after exposing several plates, I began to experiment, only to 

 find that this little mother was not afraid of me at all. She sat on her eggs 

 quite unconcerned, while I worked about the tree, changing my camera, 

 focusing with the dark cloth, and doing whatever else I desired. Indeed, the 

 bird was so far down in her nest that a good picture was not secured until I 



