132 IN BERKSHIRE FIELDS 



open. A second was hidden in a clematis- vine on 

 a trellis. The third was about seven feet up in a 

 richly tangled Virginia creeper on the east side of 

 my summer-house in the garden, where I wrote. 

 The summer-house is pierced with arches, and from 

 my table I could look through an arch directly to 

 the spot where the nest was. But the nest itself 

 was invisible. The birds did not mind me in the 

 least, but would come and go quite fearlessly. It 

 was very pretty, after the infinitesimal young were 

 hatched, to hear their tiny squeals in under the 

 leaves, and to see the parents come winging to the 

 spot, perch a second on a leaf twig, looking about 

 for danger, and then dart in out of sight. On the 

 same summer-house one year I placed a house for 

 the wrens, but it was promptly leased by a pair of 

 chickadees, who are usually shy, woodland nesters, 

 for all their tameness through the rest of the year. 

 As I can imitate (so can any one, for that matter) 

 the call of the chickadee, I always whistled softly 

 in the morning as I drew near the nest, as the male 

 bird always did, perching on a twig or wire some 

 twenty feet away and calling without dropping the 

 bit of food from his bill. In answer to my call, out 

 of the hole in the box would pop a tiny black-and- 

 gray head, and two sharp eyes would peer all about 

 while I came close and looked at her. If there is 

 any sight in the world prettier than that of a 

 mother chickadee's head popped out of her nest in 

 answer to the call of her mate, I have yet to see it. 

 When her mate was bringing her food, it was neither 

 the love-song nor the full chick-a-dee-dee-dee call 

 which he uttered, but only a sweet, wiry dee-dee. 



