The Tragic Story of a Titmouse 271 



initial timidity had been conquered and he remained on the shelf to eat. This 

 he continued to do for many months. His fare consisted of hemp, bread crumbs, 

 and suet, mentioned in the order of his preference. Before very long he was 

 thoroughly at home on the shelf, and was to be seen at almost any time from 

 sunrise to sunset. His coming was usually announced by the cheery whistle 

 or by some other notes. He soon became the dominating, if not the domineer- 

 ing, presence of the shelf. He always landed (that word best expresses his way 

 of coming to the shelf, almost as if he had dropped on to it with a thump) in a 

 most positive and determined way, as if this were business he were engaged in, 

 not a pastime, and most urgent business at that, business 'not to be entered 

 into lightly or unadvisedly,' and also business that demanded haste. The 

 other feeders always left as he arrived, apparently frightened temporarily by 

 his hasty approach. They generally came right back and were left undisturbed. 

 It was curious to see how the Titmouse always selected for his landing-place 

 the very spot where there was another bird, who, fortunately, always flew 

 away just in time to avoid the collision that seemed inevitable. The Juncos 

 and the Jays were alone undisturbed by him, the former through trustfulness, 

 the latter through fearlessness. If, on the other hand, a Jay arrived while the 

 Titmouse was feeding, the first-comer left, but only to return very soon, when 

 the two fed together amicably. In December the Titmouse invariably drove 

 off a lone Myrtle Warbler that lingered here till the day before Christmas, as 

 if to inform him that it was high time he went south, and trying to assist him 

 in that direction. A pair of Cardinals (and they alone will feed while the great 

 hulk of a gray squirrel occupies so large a portion of the shelf) neither disturbed 

 nor were disturbed by the Titmouse. One day in May a Downy Woodpecker 

 endeavored to have the piece of suet to himself, but the Titmouse refused to 

 countenance such selfishness, and persisted in sharing the lump with him, 

 where together they fed on it. 



On February 22 (he associated himself with me on great days) he flew 

 through the door of a glass-enclosed porch which opened out close to the shelf. 

 In attempting to escape he stunned himself badly against the panes, and when 

 I lifted him up he was limp, as if lifeless. I held him in my hand, took him in- 

 doors and held him over a warm radiator, but the little eyes closed and I was 

 evidently to be present at his death. But no, he suddenly revived, and after 

 I had dipped his bill in some water, his resurrection reached such an active 

 stage that I had difficulty in holding him while I placed a band around his 

 little leg, (No. 44300); and in a few minutes he was released to the great out- 

 of-doors. Sitting on the edge of the porch roof he preened himself and seemed 

 to try to recall just what experience he had been through that made him feel 

 so queerly. Whether memory got in its work I do not know, but in half an 

 hour he was whistling cheerily and was back on the shelf for food. 



On the last day of January, 1919, I wrote: "The Titmouse, from the top 

 of an oak (he seldom rises so high), is singing away this morning, with notes 



