36 BIRDS 



Blessed with a thick coat of fat under his soft, fluffy 

 gray feathers, a hardy constitution, and a sunny disposi- 

 tion, what terrors has the winter for him? When the 

 thermometer goes down, his spirits seem to go up the 

 higher. Danghng like a circus acrobat on the cone of some 

 tall pine tree; standing on an outstretched twig, then turn- 

 ing over and hanging with his black-capped head down- 

 ward from the high trapeze; carefully inspecting the rough 

 bark on the twigs for a fat grub or a nest of insect eggs, he is 

 constantly hunting for food and singing grace between bites. 

 His day-, day, day, sung softly over and over again, seems 

 to be his equivalent for " Give us this day our daily bread." 



How dehghtf uUy he and his busy friends, who are always 

 within call, punctuate the snow-muffled, midwinter silence 

 with their ringing calls of good cheer ! The orchards where 

 chickadees, titmice, nuthatches, and kinglets have dined 

 all winter will contain few worm-eaten apples next season. 

 At least one thrifty fruit-grower attracts to his trees all the 

 winter birds from far and near by keeping on several 

 shelves nailed up in his orchard, strips of suet, cheap rai- 

 sins, raw peanuts chopped fine, cracked hickory nuts, and 

 rinds of pork. The free lunch counters are freely patron- 

 ized. There is scarcely an hour in the day, no matter how 

 cold, when some hungry feathered neighbor may not be 

 seen helping himself to the heating, fattening food he 

 needs to keep his blood warm. 



At the approach of warm weather, chickadees retreat 

 from public gaze to become temporary recluses in damp, 

 deep woods or woodland swamps where insects are most 

 plentiful. For a few months they give up their friendly 

 flocking ways and live in pairs. Long journeys they do 

 not imdertake from the North when it is time to nest; but 



