NESTLINGS OF FOREST AND MARSH 
from her ruffled feathers, had been dodging 
silently in and out, carrying little white butter- 
flies, spiders’ eggs, and fat worms to those 
chickadee babies. Very soon the father, 
tired of enforced idleness, joined her, and 
for hours both parents flew into the nest 
with food every five minutes. 
I went home for luncheon that day, and 
on the way back to the chickadee friends 
with my camera in the afternoon, I found 
the hero of this story, one of the young 
chickadees of the brood first discovered. 
He was an innocent-looking, soft, appeal- 
ingly helpless baby, as he sat motionless in 
a shrub near his old nursery home. As I 
put my hand down over him, he looked 
up in an astonished way, but made no effort 
to avoid me. I carried him over to the 
second chickadee nest, nearly half a mile 
away, and put him in the grass at the foot 
of the stump. At once the owners of the 
home were much excited. ‘ Why, how did 
you get out? You are not big enough to 
fly We must feed you at “once,” they 
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