A Chickadee Home 223 
the circumstances he ought either to work or sing, and he was certainly 
making his best effort at song. 
Nearly every morning, about 6 o’clock, I would hear the plaintive phabe 
call note of these birds. Many mistake it for the note of the Phoebe. I call it 
plaintive, for by this note a friend of mine is always moved to sadness, and_ 
wishes the bird would go away. It is not exactly a call note, for it is as often 
given when the birds are together as when they are apart. To me, among all 
bird notes it is peculiar in this respect: it never commands one’s mood, but 
reflects it. If he is sad, it makes him sadder; if he is joyful, it is full of cheer. 
Every few days, by taking out the screws, I opened the front door to the 
nest—or, more accurately, removed the side of the house. By April 25, there 
had been laid an inch-thick foundation of rope and other fibers; above this, 
full two inches of moss, quite damp; and on top of this, and sunken somewhat 
into it, an incomplete felted nest of cowhair, woolly materials, and a few horse- 
hairs. For several days I had not seen the birds enter the nest, though they 
would occasionally light at the door, and I wondered if the nest were aban- 
doned. The explanation was found in their method of building the felted 
nest, which was to throw the soft materials in by billfulls, and let it pile up 
until the nest was running over. Then the bird entered, arranged the material, 
and packed it down with her little body. When the nest was completed, this 
felt work was a good half-inch thick, and quite firm, while the nest was three 
inches deep, so deep that the little bird did not more than half fill it. Later, 
when she brooded her eggs, her tail stood almost straight up on one side, 
while her bill barely tipped the rim on the other. Usually six or seven eggs 
are laid, and unless the nest were deep some of the young would be crowded 
out. 
On May 6, the nest held six eggs. I am sure that it was not six days since 
the last time I examined the nest. I did not note the date, because the nest 
held loose materials, as it had for several examinations; but I suspect that 
this loose material was used to cover the eggs until the whole clutch should 
be laid, lest some enemy—perhaps a snake—entering during the bird’s absence, 
should destroy them. 
On the day after the discovery of the eggs, I set my camera for a photo- 
graph of the little mother, arranging everything, and even focusing on my 
knife stuck in the side of the tree, before opening the door. When all was 
ready, the door was removed slowly and with utmost care. The shutter 
clicked, and back again went the door just as carefully. Hurrah! I hada 
photograph of a Chickadee on her nest, a treasure I had sought for years. 
But next day, after exposing several plates, I began to experiment, only to 
find that this little mother was not afraid of me at all. She sat on her eggs 
quite unconcerned, while I worked about the tree, changing my camera, 
focusing with the dark cloth, and doing whatever else I desired. Indeed, the 
bird was so far down in her nest that a good picture was not secured until I 
