66 WINTER 



seeing the lump of suet in my hand, he flew up and 

 perched upon my fingers and held on, picking at 

 the suet all the time I was tying it fast in the bush. 



He is a friendly little soul, who loves your neigh- 

 borhood, as, indeed, most birds do ; who has no fear 

 of you, because he cannot think that you could fear 

 him and so would want to hurt him. 



Nature made him an insect-eater ; but he has a 

 mission to perform besides eating pestiferous insects, 

 and their eggs and grubs. This destruction of in- 

 sects he does that the balance of things may be 

 maintained out of doors, lest the insects destroy us. 

 He has quite another work to do, which is not a 

 matter of grubs, and which in no wise is a matter of 

 fine feathers or sweet voice, but simply a matter of 

 sweet nature, vigor, and concentrated cheerfulness. 



Chickadee is a sermon. I hear him on a joyous 

 May morning calling Chick-a-dee! dee! Chick-a- 

 dee! dee! brisk, bright, and cheery ; or, soft and 

 gentle as a caress, he whistles, Phoe-ee-bee ! Phoe- 

 ee-bee! I meet him again on the edge of a bleak 

 winter night. He is hungry and cold, and he calls, 

 as I hasten along, Chick-a-dee ! dee ! Chick-a-dee ! 

 dee ! brisk, bright, and cheery ; or, following after 

 me, he talks to me with words as soft and gentle as 

 a caress. 



Will you lend me your wings, Chickadee, your 

 invisible wings on which you ride the winds of life 

 so evenly ? 



