THE CHICKADEES 



reached the cabin the chickadees hopped to 

 my shoulder and in heartrending bird lan- 

 guage tried to tell me that something had 

 happened to their babies. I climbed the tree 

 and found the nest empty. On a boulder I 

 had placed a pair of rubber boots to dry One 

 of the boots was missing. Two boys had 

 robbed the chickadees and had carried away 

 the young birds in the rubber boot. The 

 bereaved birds remained near the cabin all 

 night, and I did not sleep, because they talked 

 to me in the most pitiful language I had ever 

 heard from a bird. The next day I traced the 

 wretched thieves, but the little birds were dead. 



Before leaving the chickadees, I wish to 

 mention something that has impressed itself 

 upon my mind, during the last eighteen years. 

 That is, that the chackadees would make de- 

 sirable park -birds. Compare these busy 

 little birds with the English sparrow, and one 

 can but feel sorry that we imported the alien, 

 when we already possessed the native. 



A flock of my chickadees, if removed to 

 Boston Common, would thrive and increase 



