Stories of Birds | Page 2

and perched beside

Phyllis.
He came quite close and stared at the little girl in a gay, curious manner,
as though he might be looking for a playfellow.
"Who are you?" asked Phyllis, looking like a great red bird as she
perched on the fence.
"Chick-a-dee! Chick-a-dee! Chick-a-dee-dee-dee!" twittered the little
fellow. It seemed to Phyllis that he laughed because she did not know
him.
"Oh, to be sure," said she. "How stupid of me not to remember. I have
met you a hundred times.
"I should have remembered your black head and throat. The sides of
your head and neck are white. Your breasts and sides are light yellow.
Your tail and wings are of a much darker shade, and how daintily they
are edged with white!"
The chickadee fluttered about for a moment, and noticing the
friendliness in Phyllis's tones he perched a little closer to her side.
"I do not believe you noticed the large white feathers in my shoulders,"
he said. "You may always know a chickadee by the white markings
there."
"I did not notice your white shoulders at first," said Phyllis, "but I saw
at once what fine downy feathers you have. They are beautifully soft.
Do they make a warm winter dress? How do you chance to be here in
the winter-time?
"I think it is time you were in the South, Mr. Chickadee! Did your
family leave you behind?"
"No, indeed," replied Mr. Chickadee. "No, indeed, Phyllis! My entire
family are wintering here in the North. We never go South for the
winter.

"We are quite happy to remain here at home, and to come out on
sunshiny days and whistle and sing and be happy.
"Only half an hour ago some boys went coasting down that hill. I
whistled at them but they did not hear me.
"Soon they came up the hill, drawing their sleds behind them. I
whistled again and called my name.
"'Why, hello,' cried a boy in a blue reefer and a blue stocking cap.
'Hello, chickadee, you're a jolly little fellow! We call you our fair
weather friend because you sing so cheerily on these clear frosty days.'
"'Oho!' laughed another boy, who had a big scratch on his nose, 'I saw a
chickadee flying about among the fir-trees on that very stormy day last
week. He sang just as cheerily through the storm.' Then the boy
whistled back to me and called my name."
"That was my brother Jack," laughed Phyllis. "He got that scratch while
out coasting. He told me that he saw you on that stormy day. He loves
the winter quite as well as you do. You should hear him sing and
whistle when the snow falls for coasting. You should hear him shout
when the cold skating days come. He says that Jack Frost is a fellow's
best friend."
"Indeed," said the jolly little 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