A Winter Chronicle, 1918-19 341 



was while he was recovering in the pear tree that he first tasted suet, where- 

 upon, being an old-fashioned gentleman, he brought his wife to share the dis- 

 covery. After that they came together to the tree. 



In late November the Chickadees resolved to make the pear tree their 

 club-house: three of them descended upon the suet and the seed. Darting to 

 the food-tray a black-capped sprite would seize a gray-and-white striped seed 

 and whisk away to the syringa to hack open its contents; flash! and his place 

 upon the tray was taken by another fairy, and flash again! another tiny 

 bunch of feathers would usurp the other mite's table, hustling him away 

 empty-mouthed. I looked out one morning on a feast of brotherly love, as I 

 supposed (though birds may not pin their hearts on their wings any more than 

 we mortals wear ours on our sleeves); there were the three saucy Chickadees 

 busy with seed and suet, and there was the Nuthatch moving head-first down 

 the trunk towards the feeding-box. I regarded my avian Utopia with frank 

 satisfaction. The Nuthatch hurried onto the tray and was examining the seeds 

 with the air of a veteran diner-out, when a bad Chickadee alighted upon the 

 tray and literally swept his lordship off. Sir Nuthatch retired sulkily down the 

 trunk but soon returned to the food-box with crushing loftiness, I thought, 

 but his airs did not affect the self-elected members of the Pear Tree Club! 

 There was a vindictive flash of gray, white, and black fluff, and again it was 

 the Chickadee who remained on the shelf. Thus were the Nuthatches black- 

 balled and ousted from the pear tree by the fascinating strangers, who sang 

 Chick-a-dee-dee-dee most ingratiatingly to me as they feasted on their spoils — 

 chick-a-deeing so effectively that when the seeds were gone I put out more to 

 keep them at the tree. 



Through the whole long winter never another yank-yank sounded from the 

 house precincts. But the Chickadees lived there, being coaxed to the window- 

 sill where I could watch their process of eating: my bead-eyed friend would 

 choose a sunflower seed, perch on the box, firmly holding it in his black claws, 

 and then with one hack break open the envelope and let it fall to the ground 

 while he ate the soft seed; later he held between his claws the tiny hemp and 

 rape seeds, cracking the husk and then swallowing the seed. After stuffing 

 himself he would hop down to the snow and take little beakers of it ! At first 

 I was not sure which woodland was their home, but one night they told me 

 themselves. They always stayed at the window till dusk: that night I saw 

 them fly from the window to a maple; fluttering to its top, they headed 

 for a wooded hillside across a field. Up in its dim stillness I found them 

 going to bed in the hemlocks, and, launching forth from the maple, there they 

 went every night. 



One cold February morning a Hun of the air swooped down upon my 

 Chickadees. He alighted cockily in the syringa, where all seven midgets were 

 eating seed. I think the little birds did not recognize the wolf, for they sang 

 blithely till he cut off one Chickadee from the rest and pursued it with vicious 



