ted 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 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?

[Illustration: 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 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 fac