"That is what mother said when she was sick last winter and the neighbors came in to sit with her. If they talked softly she stayed asleep and didn't mind, but if they whispered she said she dreamed that the room was full of geese hissing and always waked up frightened," said Nat. The Chickadees did not mind the conversation in the least, but kept on flitting in and out of the spruces, swinging from the little pink buds that would grow into cones by and by, doing a dozen pretty tricks, and all the time calling "chickadee-dee-dee" as if they were repeating a joke among themselves. "They mean we shall know their name, anyway," said Nat. "Have they any other song?" "Oh, yes, some nice little whistle-tunes like this--'whée-ewèe, whée-ewèe,'" said Rap, "and if you whistle back they'll answer. I've done it lots of times." "Try now--do, Rap, and see if they will answer," begged Dodo. "It's too open out here, but I will go back of the trees and perhaps they will answer. I heard one whistling in there a minute ago." The children listened, and presently "whée-ewèe, whée-ewèe," came two high notes from among the trees. They were answered by two others, very musical, but a little bit sad. So the duet went on, boy and bird, until Dodo and Nat lost count and could not tell which was which. Then the music stopped and Rap returned laughing, saying that when the Chickadee found out it was not another bird that he was calling to, he was vexed and flew away. "Some Chickadees lived around our house all last winter," continued Rap, "and used to eat out of the chickens' dish. I watched them every day but one that was terribly windy, and then they stayed under the miller's cow-shed. Even strong winter birds don't like the wind much--do they, Doctor?" "No, my lad, wind is one of the greatest enemies that a bird has. A hardy bird who has plenty to eat can endure bitter cold, but when the food-supply is scanty, as it often is in winter, and the trees are covered with snow and ice, life is a battle with the Bird People. Then if a high wind is added to all this discomfort their strength gives way, and they often die in great numbers. "If people who own gardens and farms, where there are no evergreen trees or hayricks for birds to hide in, would put up each fall little shelters of brush and branches, they would save a great many bird-lives, and their orchards would be freer from insects in the spring. But, Dodo, you are not painting the word-picture of the Chickadee. Haven't you watched them long enough to think it out?"