I was weaving an idle history of the old fence, when a chickadee
twittered in the pine behind me. As I turned, he flew over me and lit
on the fence in front. He had something in his beak; so I watched to
find his nest; for I wanted very much to see him at work. Chickadee
had never seemed afraid of me, and I thought he would trust me now.
But he didn't. He would not go near his nest. Instead he began hopping
about the old rail, and pretended to be very busy hunting for insects.

Presently his mate appeared, and with a sharp note he called her down
beside him. Then both birds hopped and twittered about the rail, with
apparently never a care in the world. The male especially seemed just
in the mood for a frolic. He ran up and down the mossy rail; he
whirled about it till he looked like a little gray pinwheel; he hung
head down by his toes, dropped, and turned like a cat, so as to light
on his feet on the rail below. While watching his performance, I
hardly noticed that his mate had gone till she reappeared suddenly on
the rail beside him. Then he disappeared, while she kept up the
performance on the rail, with more of a twitter, perhaps, and less of
gymnastics. In a few moments both birds were together again and flew
into the pines out of sight.

[Illustration]

I had almost forgotten them in watching other birds, when they
reappeared on the rail, ten or fifteen minutes later, and went through
a very similar performance. This was unusual, certainly; and I sat
very quiet, very much interested, though a bit puzzled, and a bit
disappointed that they had not gone to their nest. They had some
material in their beaks both times when they appeared on the rail, and
were now probably off hunting for more--for rabbit fur, perhaps, in