"'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.