Mr. Fowler tells a story of an English nuthatch who is almost the same as one of ours. Some bird-lovers were in the habit of putting nuts on a window-sill for these birds to carry away. One day, to see what they would do, somebody put one in a glass tumbler. The birds saw the nut and tried to get it through the glass, pecking and hammering at it a long time. Finally, one got tired or discouraged and flew up to a perch over the tumbler. Then he happened to look down, and saw the nut inside the glass. Instantly he came down. He alighted on the edge of the tumbler and held on tightly, while he leaned far over inside, almost standing on his head, till he picked up the nut and carried it off. These birds are easily made tame in winter by feeding them every day when food is hard to get; and at a time when they are forced to live on seeds and nuts, they greatly enjoy scraps of meat, and most of all, suet. Many people put out food for the birds every day in winter, in some safe place where cats cannot come. They have great pleasure in watching their little guests. [Illustration: BLACK-CAPPED CHICKADEES] Chickadees, or Titmice, as they are named in the books, belong to another branch of this Family. There are a good many titmice in the world, seventy-five kinds or species, but we in America have only thirteen. Best known in the Eastern and Middle States is the common chickadee. In California, the mountain chickadee has habits about the same, and the Southern States have the tufted titmouse. All these little fellows are pretty birds in gray, set off with black and white, with lovely soft and fluffy plumage. The common CHICKADEE and his brother of the West have black on top of the head and on the throat, and white at the side of the head. They nest in holes in a tree or stump. If they can find the old home of a woodpecker, they are glad to get it, but if they cannot find one, they are able to cut one out for themselves, though it is a hard, long job for them. These birds have very large families, sometimes as many as eight or nine little chickadees in one of those dark nurseries. How so many can live there it is hard to see. They must be all in a heap. Everybody knows the common call of the chickadee,--"chick-a-dee-dee;" but he has a song, too. It is slow, sad-sounding, and of two notes, almost like the common cry of the phœbe. But you must not think they have no more than these few notes. They have odd little songs, and they make queer sounds that seem much like talking. Almost all birds have many notes and calls and little chatty noises of different sorts, besides their regular song and the common call note. To hear these, and learn to know a bird whatever he says, is one of the delights of bird study. I hope you will some day enjoy it. The Chippewa Indians named the chickadee "kitch-kitch-ga-ne-shi."