The Chickadee 
21 
his spirits seem to go up the higher. Dangling 
like a circus acrobat on the cone of some tall 
pine tree; standing on an outstretched twig, 
then turning over and hanging with his black- 
capped head downward from the high trapeze; 
carefully inspecting the rough bark on the twigs 
for a fat grub or a nest of insect eggs, he is con- 
stantly hunting for food and singing grace be- 
tween 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 delightfully he and his busy friends, who 
are always within call, punctuate the snow- 
muffled, mid-winter silence with their ringing 
calls of good cheer! The orchards where chicka- 
dees, titmice, nuthatches, and kinglets have 
dined all winter, will contain few worm-eaten 
apples next season. Here is a puzzle for your 
arithmetic class: If one chickadee eats four 
hundred and forty-four eggs of the apple tree 
moth on Monday, three hundred and thirty- 
three eggs of the canker worm on Tuesday, and 
seven hundred and seventy-seven miscellaneous 
grubs, larvae, and insect eggs on Wednesday and 
Thursday, how long will it take a flock of 
twenty-two chickadees to rid an orchard of 
every unspeakable pest? One very wise and 
thrifty fruit grower I know attracts to his trees 
all the winter birds from far and near, by keep- 
ing on several shelves nailed up in his orchard. 
