64 WINTER 



birds began to sing " a dainty dish indeed, a dish 

 of live, happy chickadees that fed our souls. 



There are states in the far Northwest where the 

 porcupine is protected by law, as a last food resource 

 for men who are lost and starving in the forests. 

 Porcupine is so slow that a dying man can catch him 

 and make a meal on him. Perhaps the porcupine was 

 not designed by nature for any such purpose, and 

 would not approve of it at all. Perhaps Chickadee 

 was not left behind by Summer to feed my lost and 

 starving hope through the cheerless months of win- 

 ter. But that is the use I make of him. He is Sum- 

 mer's pledge to me. He tells me that this winter 

 world is a living world and not a dreary world of 

 death. The woods are hollow, the winds are chill, 

 the earth is cold and stiff, but there flits Chickadee, 

 and I cannot lose faith, nor feel that this proces- 

 sion of bleak white days is all a funeral ! If Chicka- 

 dee can live, then so can I. 



He is the only bird in my out-of-doors that I can 

 find without fail three hundred and sixty-five days 

 in the year. From December to the end of March he 

 comes daily to my lilac bush for suet ; from April 

 to early July he is busy with domestic cares in the 

 gray birches down the hillside; from August to 

 December he and his family come hunting quietly 

 and sociably as a little flock among the trees and 

 bushes of the farm ; and from then on he is back 

 again for his winter meals at " The Lilac." 



