64 IN BERKSHIRE FIELDS 



reaches the hand, and puts on all brakes, beating 

 back with his wings. But the bait is too tempting. 

 The same bird, after flying away to the pine hedge 

 for a moment, almost invariably comes back to his 

 perch over the outstretched hand, dives again, this 

 time alights on a finger, snatches a seed, and is off 

 with it into the pines. The other birds seem plainly 

 to have been watching the outcome of his experi- 

 ment, for soon after two or three others repeat the 

 operation — a first attempt which is stopped in mid- 

 air, and a second, braver trial which results in capt- 

 uring a seed. The next day these bold leaders do 

 not hesitate. They come at once, and after a week 

 or two of deep snow the whole flock will have be- 

 come so bold that merely to hold out a palrnful of 

 seeds at breakfast-time is to bring a steady proces- 

 sion of chickadees to perch one after the other on 

 your finger. 



If you hold the seeds on your bare hand, the sen- 

 sations of the tiny claws clutching your finger with 

 a light yet strong grip is quite indescribable — -a deli- 

 cate clutch from this wild, pretty little creature of 

 the air, this mite of puffed feathers and snapping, 

 bright eyes which somehow warms the very cockles 

 of your heart. Perhaps the flattery of the bird's 

 confidence has something to do with it. 



But my wife doesn't stop with calling the chicka- 

 dees to her hand. After they are comparatively 

 tame and fearless, she puts a sunflower seed be- 

 tween her lips, tips her face upward, and holds out 

 her index finger as a perch a few inches from her 

 mouth. Many of the birds will now fly down to 

 her finger, perch there a moment, looking directly 



