FIELD AND STUDY 



a bright spot in my memory of that summer 

 afternoon. 



A chickadee had a nest somewhere in the old 

 orchard, but we failed to find it. Several mornings 

 in succession she came upon the veranda and filled 

 her beak with the long woolen nap from my steamer 

 rug. She was very bold, as chickadees usually are, 

 and did not mind a bit my standing a few feet away 

 and upbraiding her. 



"You are not a good neighbor," I said — "rob- 

 bing my bed to furnish your own.'* 



She only kept her beadlike eyes upon me and went 

 on with the pilfering. She made a very pretty appear- 

 ance with her beak filled with the yellow, green, and 

 black wool — a nest-lining, I venture to say, that 

 she had never had before. Each time she disap- 

 peared around the comer of the house into the 

 orchard so quickly that my eye failed to follow her. 

 I only hope that her brood throve and that she will 

 come back next summer to help herself to my supply 

 of wool. 



The hermit thrush that came two mornings in 

 September and fed upon the berries of the tall 

 spikenard plant that grows in the rear of the house 

 under the pantry window, had probably had a nest 

 in the near-by woods or on the mountain above, as 

 the hermit was in song there earlier in the season, 

 but I never chanced upon it in my walks. It was a 

 pleasure to have this rare songster come to my door 



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