chickadee, blinking his eyes in a funny way, "my brothers say the very same thing!"

"But how do you find anything to eat in the winter-time?" Phyllis asked. "The insects and worms have long been dead. What did you have for breakfast this morning?"

"We had eggs and—"

"Eggs?" cried Phyllis, not waiting for the bird to finish. "You had eggs?"

"Yes, moth's eggs," said the bird. "The moths leave their eggs about in all sorts of places. We chickadees know where to find them!"

"Are they—good?" asked Phyllis.

"Delicious!" replied the chickadee. "I think I have eaten more than a million insects' eggs in my life. I shall never tire of them."

"Where do you sleep?" Phyllis asked.

"In the fir-trees, to be sure," was the reply. "It is quite warm in there, among the many branches, and as soon as we waken we can get our breakfasts. There are all sorts of eggs and sleeping insects among the fir branches."

Phyllis looked from her own thick red leggings to the chickadee's light blue legs.

"Don't your feet get very cold?" she asked. "You surely need some leggings."

The chickadee chirruped and twittered and fluttered until Phyllis suddenly saw that he was laughing at her.

"I don't know what cold feet are!" he said. "I'm glad no one gave me red leggings for Christmas."

"What did you get for Christmas?"

"A wonderfully fine dinner spread on a white snow table-cloth under the cherry-tree!" replied the bird.

"Oh, did you come to my bird feast?" cried the little girl. "I spread crumbs and bird seed for you. Jack wanted to hang a meat bone in the cedar-tree. He said that you would like it better. Indeed, I believe he did hang one there. Did you ever see it?"

"Oh, yes, Phyllis, many a day have we pecked away at that meat bone. It was really very good."

"Jack read in a book that you were fond of pecking at meat bones. He will be glad to know that it is true!"

"Thank him for us," said the chickadee. "You were kind to remember us!"

"Ah," said Phyllis, "but it was kind of you to remain behind to cheer us when all the other birds have gone to warmer lands.

"But, chickadee, though you are so cheery and gay in winter, are you not really happier in the summer-time?"

"Oh, we are so busy in summer," the chickadee replied. "Last May I travelled miles and miles looking for a vacant house."

"Looking for a vacant house?" cried Phyllis, with wide brown eyes.

"For housekeeping," said the chickadee. "You see my mate and I had never kept house before. She was very anxious to find a most suitable place.

"My wife said a woodpecker's nest was the very place, but I rather preferred a squirrel's hole.

"For a long time we could find neither to suit us. But at length I heard Mrs. Chickadee calling loudly. I flew to her side at once.

"'What is it?' I cried.

"'Look!' cried Mrs. Chickadee, pointing with her bill and flapping her wings with joy.

"Through the thick of the woods ran a gray old rail fence. Woodbine and wild hop vines wellnigh covered it. The posts were gray where they were not moss-covered.

"In one of these gray-green posts was a hole where a pair of woodpeckers had once built their nest.

"'This is the very place for us!' cried Mrs. Chickadee. 'It could not be better though we hollowed it out for ourselves.'"

"Could you?" asked Phyllis, looking at the bird's little short black bill.

"If need be, we could, indeed," replied the chickadee. "But we would far rather find a knot-hole, or a squirrel's or woodpecker's deserted nest.

"When we had decided on the spot," the bird went on, "we at once began lining the nest. We carried fine grasses and soft feathers. We found mosses and rabbits' fur to make it soft.

"Those were indeed happy days for us. They were also exciting days. We were very careful to let no one know what we were about.

"Once, as I flew home with a bit of moss, I saw a boy lying on the grass not far from our fence-post. It would never do to let him know our secret. Boys are not to be trusted.

"I perched upon the fence and pretended that I had never a thought of nest building.

"In a moment Mrs. Chickadee came flying home with a soft, downy feather. When I called out warningly she at once flew to me.

"Then the boy called softly to his little sister.

"'Come quick,' he said, 'if you want to watch these birds build their nest.'

"A little dark-eyed girl crept up beside the boy. We scarcely knew what to do. Soon a bright idea occurred to me. I began to sing my very best. I also performed my most wonderful tricks. I whirled round and round. I darted between the rails. I spun about.

"The children became so interested in my performance that they forgot to watch Mrs. Chickadee. When they were not looking her way, she flew to the nest and arranged the feather.

"When she returned she took my place on the fence. Now my wife and I look very much alike, and though she cannot perform quite as nimbly as I, the children did not know when we changed places.

"While the children watched her I flew to the nest with my bit of moss.

"'What a pity!' said the little girl, as we flew away laughing to ourselves. 'They stopped to play and they lost the bits of moss and feathers with which they meant to make their nest!'

"'Chick-a-dee! Chick-a-dee! Chick-a-dee!' called back my wife happily."

All this time Phyllis's eyes were growing rounder and bigger.

"Why," said she, "I never knew there was but one bird performing on the fence. I thought the other flew away!"

"That was because Mrs. Chickadee and I look so much alike," replied Mr. Chickadee.

"But we did find your nest a few days later," said Phyllis. "In it were six small white eggs covered with tiny red specks. We went to look at the nest every day until the eggs hatched. Then we went several times a day until the baby birds learned to fly and left the nest empty.

"But you did not disturb us," said the chickadee, "though we were dreadfully frightened at first."

At that moment a great soft snowball went plump! against Phyllis's red cap.

"Jack!" she cried, scrambling off the fence and running after the boy with the scratch on his nose. "Jack, take me for a ride on your sled!"

Then she looked back. The chickadee now sat in the tree-top.

"Tell Mrs. Chickadee," called Phyllis, "that I shall spread some more crumbs and seeds on the white table-cloth this afternoon. We'll hang another bone in the cedar-tree, too!"

"Chick-a-dee-dee-dee!" cried the little bird in a flutter of delight.

TWENTY LITTLE CHICKADEES

Twenty little chickadees,
Sitting in a row;
Twenty pairs of naked feet
Buried in the snow.
I should think you'd fly away
Where the weather's warm,
Then you wouldn't have to be
Out there in the storm.

Sorry little chickadees,
Don't you know the way?
Can't you find the road to go
Where 'tis always May?
Robins all have found it out,
Wrens and bluebirds too,
Don't you wish you'd thought to ask
Ere away they flew?

THE SNOWBIRD'S SONG[1]

The ground was all covered with snow, one day,
And two little sisters were busy at play—
A snowbird was sitting close by on a tree,
And merrily singing his chick-a-de-dee!

He had not been singing that tune very long,
When Emily heard him, so loud was his song.
"Oh, sister, look out of the window!" said she,
"Here's a dear little bird, singing chick-a-de-dee!

"Poor fellow! he walks