66 IN BERKSHIRE FIELDS 



Of course, there are other winter birds than the 

 chickadees about our dwelling — nuthatches always, 

 for you meet few flocks of chickadees without at 

 least a pair of "devil downheads" in friendly com- 

 panionship, a tree-sparrow or two, and usually a 

 pair of woodpeckers. All these birds feed on the 

 window-ledge, but only very rarely can a nuthatch 

 be persuaded to eat from the hand, and the others 

 never. The occasional flocks of pine-grosbeaks do 

 not come even to the ledge. They are shy and silent 

 birds. But a pair of red-breasted nuthatches — 

 smaller than the more common variety — have been 

 with us for three winters now. They are an extreme- 

 ly ill-mannered and aggressive pair, too, driving off 

 their larger cousins till they themselves have eaten 

 their fill. At first they also intimidated the chicka- 

 dees, but the little fellows soon rallied, came back 

 with a counter offensive en masse, and taught the 

 redbreasts their place. 



How valuable the chickadees are as insect-de- 

 stroyers can readily be observed by anybody who 

 watches them. Their winter appetite is voracious, 

 for it must require a deal of heat to keep those little 

 bodies warm in the bleak storms and zero weather. 

 I have seen one bird eat twenty sunflower seeds in 

 an hour, each seed being for him the equivalent in 

 size of an English muffin for you and me. With 

 their short, sharp, powerful little bills they go peck- 

 ing busily and incessantly all over the trees. But 

 they are never too busy to pay attention to the 

 passing stranger. 



Not far from us there is a large country estate, 

 with a walled garden deserted in winter. Over the 



