124 Kh c TOarblcr 



The date was very late, the tenth of June, and ordinarily such a set at 

 such a time would have been left without a question to its normal destiny. 

 But an inviting translucency in the eggs before me led to a faint hope that 

 so rare a set might be saved to science. And in the issue, to the unbounded 

 astonishment of the manipulator and the deep though quiet satisfaction of 

 the fastidious Denver man, the eggs were all perfectly prepared, though each 

 contained a rather tough embryo. So much for pancreatine, sun-heat, water 

 and patience. 



Does a mother Chickadee dig and build and lay again after her first nest 

 has been robbed? It is hard to say, for no evidence has ever come to light 

 for showing whether or no a Chickadee pair ever show fondness for a locali- 

 ty wherein their last year's brood grew up. Yet in any case it salves some- 

 what the hurt which some of us increasingly feel in egg collecting (and es- 

 pecially where the building of the home has cost so much) to have a proud 

 pair of Chickadees bring their family into the shelter of the second-growth 

 pines beside our cottage, and amid the uninviting heat of August days. The 

 quaint little stub-tailed fellows perch in obstinate quiescence on some dead 

 pine twigs among the lower branches, chirping, at intervals, coaxingly and 

 softly, their wheezy "Dee-did — dee-dit", while mamma rustles for a "worm". 



Then the soul of the happy spectator leaps ahead, with expectant joy, 

 to another trysting time wherein the blithe and mellow " Be-wary " of the 

 Chickadee male will lure one afield amid the fitful bluster and fickle sunshine 

 of March and April winds and skies. In reminiscence, one follows the male 

 gallant — even as he follows his mate — over talus and wind-fall, over breath- 

 smothering hills and through steep gorges, fitfully chattering all the while, 

 with a deal of unintelligible small-talk. Then rests one, lying on his back, 

 among the nodding pasque flowers while demure little Madam Parus, brood- 

 ing now whole quarter-hours at a time on some mid-low branch of pine or 

 cedar, utters dreamily her soft,sotto"He-did-it — he did — he did-it — 'deed 'e-did 

 — he aid — 'deed-'e-did". One listens to such soliloquy with a queer little gulp 

 creeping up from his heart to his throat ; for it is no impossible leap of 

 fancy to suppose that this fluffy feather-ball may fairly feel already the tick- 

 ling, bv fuzzy heads, of a breast worn bare by very anticipatory love of 

 them. Isn't this fair to suppose, think you, or — were you never a mother? 



