morning; but the rescuer exclaimed resolutely, "We'll get them out
to-night!" and hurried off to the ranch-house for a step-ladder and axe.

The ladder did not reach up to the first knothole, four or five feet
below the nest; but the boy cut a notch in the top of the knot and stood
in it, practically on one foot, and held on to a small branch with his
right hand--the first limb he trusted to broke off as he caught
it--while with the left hand he hacked away at the nest hole. It was a
ticklish position and genuine work, for the wood was hard and the
hatchet dull.

I stood below holding the carving-knife,--we hadn't many tools on the
ranch,--and as the boy worked he entertained me with an account of an
accident that happened years before, when his brother had chopped off a
branch and the axe head had glanced off, striking the head of the boy
who was watching below. I stood from under as he finished his story, and
inquired with interest if he were sure his axe head was tight! Before
the lad had made much impression on the hard sycamore, he got so tired
and looked so white around the mouth that I insisted on his getting down
to rest, and tried to divert him by calling his attention to the sunset
and the voices of the quail calling from the vineyard. When he went up
again I handed him the carving-knife to slice off the thinner wood on
the edge of the nest hole, warning him not to cut off the heads of the
young birds.

At last the hole was big enough, and, sticking the hatchet and knife
into the bark, the lad threw one arm around the trunk to hold on while
he thrust his hand down into the nest. "My, what a deep hole!" he
exclaimed. "I don't know as I can reach them now. They've gone to the
bottom, they're so afraid." Nearly a foot down he had to squeeze, but at
last got hold of one bird and brought it out. "Drop him down," I cried,
"I'll catch him," and held up my hands. The little bird came fluttering
through the air. The second bird clung frightened to the boy's coat,
but he loosened its claws and dropped it down to me. What would the
poor old mother woodpecker have thought had she seen these first flights
of her nestlings!

I hurried the little scared brothers under my jacket, my best substitute
for a hollow tree, and called _chuck'-ah_ to them in the most
woodpecker-like tones I could muster. Then the boy shouldered the
ladder, and I took the carving-knife, and we trudged home triumphant; we
had rescued the little p