CAROLINA CHICKADEE 19 



is softer than that of the bird of Emerson's 

 poem ; but his courage in enduring cheerfully the 

 hardships of winter deserves all the praise that 

 has been pretty generally heaped on his northern 

 cousin. 



His coat is all gray, with a black cap and 

 cravat. No bird is livelier or more agile than 

 this wee fellow, as he flits among the branches, 

 searching every twig for tiny insects and the 

 eggs and larvae of insects which larger birds 

 have overlooked, picking, pecking, boring, flut- 

 tering, standing upside down and peering into 

 chinks, squeaking "suippit, suippit," and from 

 time to time calling "tsic-a-de-de-de." Besides 

 this he has a spring song of four smooth whist- 

 ling notes of equal value, "I'm — here — to — 

 stay," and other chuckling or scolding notes. It 

 has been estimated that one of these tiny helpers 

 of ours consumes from two hundred to five hun- 

 dred small insects daily, or up to 4,000 eggs of 

 insects, and even more when the young Chicks 

 are to be fed. 



The nest is a cosy affair, no bigger than the 

 hollow of your hand, tucked into a stump or an 

 empty woodpecker's hole. It cradles perhaps six 

 white eggs specked a little with brown. 



It used to puzzle me that such tiny bodies 

 could contain enough warmth and vital energy 

 to defy cheerfully the fiercest weather. I believe, 



