cold for
him to relish; so out he came to the birch trees, with a cheery "Chick,
D.D.," as if he were saying grace for the good food tucked here and
there along the branches.

When he alighted, though, it wasn't the bark he found, but a hard, thick
coating of ice. The branches rattled together as he moved among them and
the icicles that dangled down rang and clicked as they struck one
another. The ice-storm had locked in Chick's breakfast eggs, and, try as
he would with his little beak, he couldn't get through to find them.

So Chick's Christmas Day began with hardship: for, though he sang gayly
through the coldest weather, he needed food to keep him strong and warm.
He was not foolish enough to spend his morning searching through the
icy birch trees, for he had a wise little brain in his head and soon
found out that it was no use to stay there. But he didn't go back to the
forest and mope about it. Oh, no. Off he flew, down the short hill
slope, seeking here and there as he went.

Where the soil was rocky under the snow, some sumachs grew, and their
branches of red berries looked like gay Christmas decorations. The snow
that had settled heavily on them had partly melted, and the soaked
berries had stained it so that it looked like delicious pink ice-cream.
Some of the stain had dripped to the snow below, so there were places
that looked like pink ice-cream there, too. Then the ice-storm had
crusted it over, and now it was a beautiful bit of bright color in the
midst of the white-and-green-and-blue Christmas.

Chick stopped hopefully at the sumach bushes, not because he knew
anything about ice-cream or cared a great deal about the berries; but
sometimes there were plump little morsels hidden among them, that he
liked to pull out and eat. If there was anything there that morning,
though, it was locked in under the ice; and Chick flew on to the willows
that showed where the brook ran in summer.

Ah, the willow cones! Surely they would not fail him! He would put his
bill in at the tip and down the very middle, and find a good tasty bit
to start with, and then he would feel about in other parts of the cone
for small insects, which often creep into such places for the winter.
The flight to the willows was full of courage. Surely there would be a
breakfast there for a hungry Chick!

But the ice was so heavy on the willows that it had bent them down till
the tips lay frozen into the crust below.

So from pantry to pan