CHICKADEE 63 



old home hollow, where they were as snug and warm 

 this fierce, wild night as ever they were in the soft 

 May days when they nestled here together. 



The cold drove me on ; but the sight of the chicka* 

 dee had warmed me, and all my shivering world of 

 night and death. And so he ever does. For the win- 

 ter has yet to be that drives him seeking shelter to 

 the sunny south. I never knew it colder than in 

 January and February of 1904. During both of 

 those months I drove morning and evening through 

 a long mile of empty, snow-buried woods. For days 

 at a time I would not see even a crow, but morning 

 and evening at a certain dip in the road two chicka- 

 dees would fly from bush to bush across the hollow 

 and cheer me on my way. 



They came out to the road, really to pick up what- 

 ever scanty crumbs of food were to be found in 

 my wake. They came also to hear me, and to see 

 me go past to escape for a moment, I think, from 

 the silence, the desertion, and the death of the 

 woods. They helped me to escape, too. 



Four other chickadees, all winter long, ate with 

 us at the house, sharing, so far as the double windows 

 would allow, the cheer of our dining-room. We served 

 them their meals on the lilac bush outside the win- 

 dow, tying their suet on so that they could see us 

 and we could see them during meal-time. Perhaps 

 it was mere suet, and nothing else at all, that they 

 got ; but constantly, when our " pie was opened, the 



