Mrs. Chickadee paused a minute.  The birds were so still one could hear the pine trees whisper.  Then she went on:  “I comforted the poor little fellow as best I could, and showed him where to find a few seeds; then I flew home, for it was bedtime.  I tucked my head under my wing to keep it warm, and thought, and thought, and thought; and here’s my plan: 

“We Chickadees have a nice warm home here in the spruce trees, with their thick, heavy boughs to shut out the snow and cold.  There is plenty of room, so Thistle could sleep here all winter.  We would let him perch on a branch, when we Chickadees would nestle around him until he was as warm as in the lovely summer tine.  These cones are so full of seeds that we could spare him a good many; and I think that you Robins might let him come over to your pines some day and share your seeds.  Downy Woodpecker must keep his eyes open as he hammers the trees, and if he spies a supply of seeds he will let us know at once.  Snow Bunting is only a visitor, so I don’t expect him to help, but I wanted him to hear my plan with the rest of you.  Now you will try, won’t you, every one?”

“Cheerup, cheerup, ter-ra-lee!  Indeed we’ll try; let’s begin right away!  Don’t wait until to-morrow; who’ll go and find Thistle?”

“I will,” chirped Robin Rusty-breast, and off he flew to the place which Mrs. Chickadee had told of, at the other side of the wood.  There, sure enough, he found Thistle Goldfinch sighing:  “Dear-ie me! dear-ie me!  The winter is so cold and I’m here all alone!” “Cheerup, chee-chee!” piped the Robin: 

“Cheerup, cheerup, I’m here! 
I’m here and I mean to stay. 
What if the winter is drear—­
Cheerup, cheerup, anyway!”

“But the snow is so deep,” said Thistle, and the Robin replied: 

“Soon the snows’ll be over and gone,
Run and rippled away;
What’s the use of looking forlorn? 
Cheerup, cheerup, I say!”

Then he told Thistle all their plans, and wasn’t Thistle surprised?  Why, he just couldn’t believe a word of it till they reached Mrs. Chickadee’s and she said it was all true.  They fed him and warmed him, then settled themselves for a good night’s rest.

Christmas morning they were chirping gaily, and Thistle was trying to remember the happy song he sang in the summer time, when there came a whirr of wings as Snow Bunting flew down.

“Ter-ra-lee, ter-ra-lee, ter-ra-lee,” said he, “can you fly a little way?”

“Oh, yes,” replied Thistle.  “I think I could fly a long way.”

“Come on, then,” said Snow Bunting.  “Every one who wants a Christmas dinner, follow me!” That was every word he would say, so what could they do but follow?

Soon they came to the edge of the wood, and then to a farmhouse.  Snow Bunting flew straight up to the piazza, and there stood a dear little girl in a warm hood and cloak, with a pail of bird-seed on her arm, and a dish of bread crumbs in her hand.  As they flew down, she said: