they picked out their crack in the oak and began to build without any advice from me, winning little gray-crested titmice that they were. their oak was right behind the ranch-house barn; i found it by hearing the bird sing there. the little fellow, warmed by his song, flitted up the tree a branch higher after each repetition of his loud cheery tu-whit', tu-whit', tu-whit', tu-whit'. meanwhile his pretty mate, with bits of stick in her bill, walked down a crack in the oak trunk.

thinking she had gone, i went to examine the place. i poked about with a twig but couldn't find the nest till, down in the bottom of the crack, i spied a little gray head and a pair of bright eyes looking up at me. the bird started forward as if to dart out, but changed her mind and stayed in while i took a hasty look and fled, more frightened than she by the intrusion.

the titmice had been flying back and forth from the hen-yard with chicken's feathers, and it seemed such slow work for them i thought i would help them. so the next day, when the pair were away, i stuffed a few white feathers[176] into the mouth of the nest and withdrew under the shadow of the barn to watch through my glass without being observed. then my conscience began to trouble me. what if this interference should drive the gentle bird to desert her nest?

the plain titmouse in her doorway. the plain titmouse in her doorway.

when i heard the familiar chickadee call—the titmouse often chirrups like his cousin—it made me quake guiltily. what would the birds do? the gray pair came flying in with crests[177] raised, and my small friend hopped down to her doorway. she gave a start of surprise at sight of the feathers, but after a moment's hesitation went bravely in! while she was inside, her mate waited in the tree, singing for her; and when she came out, he flew away with her. then i crept up to the oak, and to my delight found that all the feathers had disappeared. she evidently believed in taking what the gods provide. in fact, she seemed only to wish that they would provide more, for, after taking a second supply from me, she stood in the vestibule, cocked her crested head, and looked about as if expecting to see new treasures.

she had common-sense enough to take what she found at hand, but if she had not been such a plucky little builder she would have been scared away by the strange sights that afterwards met her at her nest. once when she came, feathers were sticking in the bark all around the crack. she hesitated—the rush of her flight probably fanned the air so the white plumes waved in her face—she hesitated and looked around timidly before getting courage to go in; and on leaving the nest flew away in nervous haste; but she was soon back again, and ready to take the feathers down inside the oak. she caught hold of the tip of one that was wedged into a crack, and tugged and tugged till i was afraid she would get discouraged and go off without it. she got it, however,[178] and drew it in backwards. then she attacked another feather, but finding that it came harder than the first, let go her hold and took an easier one. she was not to be daunted, though, and after stowing away the loose one came back for the tight one again, and persevered till she bent it in several places, besides breaking off the tip.

when she had flown off, i jumped up, ran to the oak, and stuffed the doorway full of feathers. before i had finished, the family sentinel caught me—i had been in too much of a hurry and he had heard me walking over the cornstalks. he eyed me suspiciously and gave vent to his disapproval, but i addressed him in such friendly terms that he soon flew off and talked to his mate reassuringly, as if he had decided that it was all right after all. after their conversation she came back and made the best of her way right down through the feather-bed! i went away delighted with her perseverance, and charmed by her confidence and pretty performances.

the next day i heard the titmouse singing in an elder by the kitchen, and went out to see how the birds acted when gathering their own material. the songster was idly hunting through the branches, singing, while his mate—busy little housewife—was hard at work getting her building stuff. she had something in her beak when i caught sight of her, but in an instant was down on the ground after another bit. then she flew up[179] in the tree looking among the leaves; in passing she swung a moment on a strap hanging from a branch; then flew down among the weeds, back up in the tree again; and so back and forth, over and over, her bill getting fuller and fuller.

i was glad to save her work, and interested to see how far she would accept my help. once when i blocked the entrance with feathers and horsehair she stopped, and, though her bill was full, picked up the packet and flew out on a branch with it. was she going to throw away my present? for a moment my faith in her was shaken. perhaps her mate had been warning her to beware of me. she did drop the mat of horsehair—what did such a dainty quaker lady as she want of horsehair?—but she kept tight hold of one of the feathers, although it was almost as big as she was; and flew back quickly to the nest with it.

this performance proved one point. she would not take everything that was brought to her. she preferred to hunt for her own materials rather than use what she did not like. now the question was, what did she like?

my next experiment was with some lamp wick to which i had tied bits of cotton. the titmouse took the cotton and would have taken the wicking, i think, if it had not been fastened in too tight for her. after that i tried tying bits of cotton to strings, and letting them dangle before the[180] mouth of the nest. though i moved up to within twenty feet of the nest, she paid no attention to me but hurried in. she liked the cotton so well she stopped in her hallway, reached up to pull at the white bundles, and tweaked and tugged till, finally, she backed triumphantly down the hole with one.

her mate, less familiar with my experiments, started to go to the nest after her, but the sight of the cotton scared him so he fled ignominiously back into the treetop. he stayed there singing till she came out, when he flew up to her with a dainty he had discovered—at least the two put their bills together; perhaps it was just a caress, for they were a tender, gentle little pair.

having proved that my bird liked feathers and cotton, i wanted to see what she thought of straws. apparently she did not think much of them. she looked very much dashed when she came home and found the yellow sticks protruding from the nest hole. she hesitated, turned her head over, flew to a twig on one side of the oak and then back to one on the other side. finally she mustered courage, and with her crest flattened as if she did not like it, darted down into the hole. when she flew out, however, she went right to her mate, and forgetting all her troubles at sight of him, fluttered her wings and lisped like a young bird as she put up her bill to have him feed her.

perhaps it was unkind to bother the poor bird[181] any more, but i meant her no harm and the fever for experiment possessed my blood. i tied some of the straws to a piece of wicking and baited it with feathers, thinking that perhaps she would take the straws for the sake of the feathers and wicking. i also stuffed the hole with horsehair. she did pull at the feather end of the line; i saw the straw jerk, and, when she had left, found a round hole the brave little bird had made right through the middle of the mat of horsehair i had stopped the nest with.

straws and horsehair the titmouse evidently classed together. they were not on her list of building materials. on reflection she decided that the horsehair would make a good hall carpet, so left it in the vestibule, though she would have none of it down in her nest; but she calmly threw my straws down on the ground at the foot of the oak.

i don't know what experiments i might have been tempted to try next had i not suddenly found myself dismissed—the house was complete. my pretty quaker lady sat in the shade of the oak leaves with crest raised and the flickering sunlight flecking her gray breast. she pecked softly at one of the white feathers that blew up against her as she listened to the song of her mate; and then flew away to him without once going to the nest. evidently her work was done, and she was waiting till it should be time to begin brooding.[182]

ten days later i saw her mate come with his bill full of worms and lean down by the hole to call her. she answered with a sweet pleading twitter, and reached up to be fed. when he had gone, perhaps she thought she would like a second bite. at any rate, she hopped out in the doorway and flew off to another tree, calling out tsché-de-de so sweetly he would surely have come back to her had he been within hearing.

a few days later i saw him feed her at the nest five or six times in half an hour. he would come to the next oak, light and call to her, when she would answer from inside the tree trunk and he would go to her. i was near enough to see her pretty gray head and black eyes coming up out of the crack in the oak. sometimes when he had fed her he would call out and she would answer as if saying good-by from down in the nest. one morning i found the devoted little mate bringing her breakfast to her at half past six.

nearly a month later they were feeding their young. the winsome mother bird, who had looked so tired and nest-worn the last time i saw her, was now as plump and happy as her spouse. when i thought the pair were away, i went to try to get sight of the nestlings down the hole. the old birds appeared as soon as i set foot by the oak and took upon themselves to scold me. they chattered softly in a way they had never done before. they quickly got used to me again, however,[183] and fed the little ones without hesitation right before me, knowing full well that a person who had helped them build their nest would never harm their little brood; and it was a disappointment when i had to go away and leave the winning family.