IN the early part of the winter of 1898-9 Chickadees were unusually abundant in Central Park, New York City, and a friend and myself saw them come down and get some of the nuts we were feeding to White-throated Sparrows. We were, of course, much interested, and determined to see if we could tame them. They would take the nuts to a limb, eat all they wished, and hide the rest in crevices in trees or bushes, where, I think, they seldom found them again, for the impudent and ever wide-awake English Sparrow watched and got the pieces almost as soon as they were deposited. After feeding them in this way for some time, we tried to get them to eat from our hands, and finally succeeded by first placing our hands on the ground with a nut about a foot from our fingers, then a little nearer, then on the ends of our fingers, and lastly in the palms of our hands. There was a great shout when they hopped on our hands the first time, our delight being indescribable.
Finding that kneeling or bending over on the ground was rather hard work, we tried holding out our hands when standing, or while sitting on the benches, and they very soon came, no matter where we were or in what attitude. The little creatures never seemed to get tired if we remained hours at a time, and it was indeed difficult to tear oneself away. Just as I would make up my mind to be off one would fly over my head calling chick-a-dee-dee in such a bewitching way as to make it impossible to leave. I would say to myself, "Just one piece more," then throw a lot of nuts on the ground and make a 'bee line' for home, never looking back for fear the temptation would be too great, and I should find myself retracing my steps. After a time they would come to me and follow me anywhere in the park, whenever I called them, and getting better acquainted I found the birds possessed of so many different traits of character that I named each one accordingly. One I called the 'Scatterer,' because he stood on my hand and deliberately threw piece after piece of nut on the ground, looking down as they fell with the most mischievous twinkle in his eyes, as much as to say, "see what I've done," then take a piece and fly away. This he did dozens of times in succession. I thought at first he would rather pick them up from the ground, but he came directly back and waited for me to do it. Another I called 'Little Ruffled Breast,' on account of the feathers on the breast being rough and much darker than the rest. He was the most affectionate, had a sweet disposition, and, like human beings of the same character, was often imposed upon, many times being driven off by the others when he was just about taking a nut. He was very tame, and had perfect confidence in anyone who would feed him. The third I named the 'Boss,' because he took the lead and carried the day. He was a beauty, spick and span in his dress, not a feather out of place, and plump and perfect in form. The fourth, dubbed 'Little Greedy,' was very fascinating, and I must confess to loving him more than the rest, having had a most novel experience with him, and one never to be forgotten. He came to me one morning, and, lighting on my hand, sang chick-a-dee-dee two or three times, helped himself to a nut, and, perching on my forefinger, put the nut under his foot, as I have seen them do many a time on the trees, remaining there until he had eaten it. I was thrilled through and through with the sensation and the perfect trustfulness of the little creature, and was sorry when he had finished. But why was he called Greedy? Because he usually took two pieces instead of one, and, strange to say, knew that he must have both the same size or one would fall out. It was very funny to see him with a good sized piece, his bill stretched to its utmost capacity, trying to fit in another. He turned his bill first on one side then on the other, thinking he could wedge it in by forcing it against my hand, and he succeeded in this wonderful feat by his perseverance and indomitable will.
[The Surprising Contents of a Birch Stub]
BY FRANK M. CHAPMAN
After seeing Dr. Roberts' interesting [Chickadee photographs], published in the first number of Bird-Lore, my ambition was aroused to discover a nest of this species so situated as to afford an opportunity to secure equally charming pictures of Chickadee life. Late in May the desire was gratified by the discovery, at Englewood, N. J., of a Chickadee's nest in a white birch stub, about four feet from the ground, a height admirably suited to the needs of bird photography.
I will not here present the results of my study of the parent birds during their period of incubation, but will pass at once to that part of my experience which relates to their progeny.