he abandoned it. The next fall he began a
hole in an adjoining limb, later than before, and when it was about
half completed a female took possession of his old quarters. I am
sorry to say that this seemed to enrage the male very much, and he
persecuted the poor bird whenever she appeared upon the scene. He
would fly at her spitefully and drive her off. One chilly November
morning, as I passed under the tree, I heard the hammer of the little
architect in his cavity, and at the same time saw the persecuted
female sitting at the entrance of the other hole as if she would fain
come out. She was actually shivering, probably from both fear and
cold. I understood the situation at a glance; the bird was afraid to
come forth and brave the anger of the male. Not till I had rapped
smartly upon the limb with my stick did she come out and attempt to
escape; but she had not gone ten feet from the tree before the male
was in hot pursuit, and in a few moments had driven her back to the
same tree, where she tried to avoid him among the branches. A few
days after, he rid himself of his unwelcome neighbor in the following
ingenious manner: he fairly scuttled the other cavity; he drilled a
hole into the bottom of it that let in the light and the cold, and I
saw the female there no more. I did not see him in the act of
rendering this tenement uninhabitable; but one morning, behold it was
punctured at the bottom, and the circumstances all seemed to point to
him as the author of it. There is probably no gallantry among the
birds except at the mating season. I have frequently seen the male
woodpecker drive the female away from the bone upon the tree. When she
hopped around to the other end and timidly nibbled it, he would
presently dart spitefully at her. She would then take up her position
in his rear and wait till he had finished his meal. The position of
the female among the birds is very much the same as that of woman
among savage tribes. Most of the drudgery of life falls upon her, and
the leavings of the males are often her lot.

[Illustration: WINTER AT RIVERBY ON THE HUDSON]

My bird is a genuine little savage, doubtless, but I value him as a
neighbor. It is a satisfaction during the cold or stormy winter nights
to know he is warm and cosy there in his retreat. When the day is bad
and unfit to be abroad in, he is there too. When I wish to know if he
is at home, I go and rap upon his tree, and, if he is not too lazy or
indiffere