g in succession, at
intervals of nearly a day, left the nest in this manner. There would be
the first journey of a few feet along the plate, the first sudden panic
at being so far from home, the rush back, a second and perhaps a third
attempt, and then the irrevocable leap into the air, and a clamorous
flight to a near-by bush or rock. Young birds never go back when they
have once taken flight. The first free flap of the wings severs forever
the ties that bind them to home.

* * * * *

I recently observed a robin boring for grubs in a country dooryard. It
is a common enough sight to witness one seize an angle-worm and drag it
from its burrow in the turf, but I am not sure that I ever before saw
one drill for grubs and bring the big white morsel to the surface. The
robin I am speaking of had a nest of young in a maple near by, and she
worked the neighborhood very industriously for food. She would run
along over the short grass after the manner of robins, stopping every
few feet, her form stiff and erect. Now and then she would suddenly bend
her head toward the ground and bring eye or ear for a moment to bear
intently upon it. Then she would spring to boring the turf vigorously
with her bill, changing her attitude at each stroke, alert and watchful,
throwing up the grass roots and little jets of soil, stabbing deeper and
deeper, growing every moment more and more excited, till finally a fat
grub was seized and brought forth. Time after time, during several days,
I saw her mine for grubs in this way and drag them forth. How did she
know where to drill? The insect was in every case an inch below the
surface. Did she hear it gnawing the roots of the grasses, or did she
see a movement in the turf beneath which the grub was at work? I know
not. I only know that she struck her game unerringly each time. Only
twice did I see her make a few thrusts and then desist, as if she had
been for the moment deceived.

THE FLICKER

Another April comer, who arrives shortly after Robin Redbreast, with
whom he associates both at this season and in the autumn, is the
golden-winged woodpecker, _alias_ "high-hole," _alias_ "flicker,"
_alias_ "yarup," _alias_ "yellow-hammer." He is an old favorite of my
boyhood, and his note to me means very much. He announces his arrival by
a long, loud call, repeated from the dry branch of some tree, or a stake
in the fence,--a thoroughly melodious April sound. I think