14 
month. In winter its croak has a lone- 
some sound, and his appearance, so dark 
and gloomy, has not an exhilarating ef- 
fect; but when the snow has melted and 
the little brooks are in full run, its more 
mellow caw chimes with the song of the 
Sparrow and the warble of the Bluebird, 
and its love notes are almost musical. 
The little Chickadee we shall see if we 
walk in the woods at the base of Mt. 
Tom. It spends the winter with us, and 
its cry of “‘chickadee, dee, dee” is pleas- 
ant to our ears. It is a bold little bird, 
and seems to have but little fear of man. 
Years ago I spent a winter in the exten- 
sive pine forests of Northern Wisconsin, 
camping out in the deep snows of that 
section, making my camps of hemlock 
and fir boughs. Wherever my camp was 
fixed, there the Chickadee would be sure 
to find me, and I could usually lure him 
to my side by offering him gifts of fat 
meat. Finally he would become so tame 
that he would frequently light on my 
