nt, after some delay he shows his head in his round doorway
about ten feet above, and looks down inquiringly upon me,--sometimes
latterly I think half resentfully, as much as to say, "I would thank
you not to disturb me so often." After sundown, he will not put his
head out any more when I call, but as I step away I can get a glimpse
of him inside looking cold and reserved. He is a late riser,
especially if it is a cold or disagreeable morning, in this respect
being like the barn fowls; it is sometimes near nine o'clock before I
see him leave his tree. On the other hand, he comes home early, being
in, if the day is unpleasant, by four P. M. He lives all alone; in
this respect I do not commend his example. Where his mate is, I should
like to know.

I have discovered several other woodpeckers in adjoining orchards,
each of which has a like home, and leads a like solitary life. One of
them has excavated a dry limb within easy reach of my hand, doing the
work also in September. But the choice of tree was not a good one; the
limb was too much decayed, and the workman had made the cavity too
large; a chip had come out, making a hole in the outer wall. Then he
went a few inches down the limb and began again, and excavated a
large, commodious chamber, but had again come too near the surface;
scarcely more than the bark protected him in one place, and the limb
was very much weakened. Then he made another attempt still farther
down the limb, and drilled in an inch or two, but seemed to change his
mind; the work stopped, and I concluded the bird had wisely abandoned
the tree. Passing there one cold, rainy November day, I thrust in my
two fingers and was surprised to feel something soft and warm; as I
drew away my hand the bird came out, apparently no more surprised than
I was. It had decided, then, to make its home in the old limb; a
decision it had occasion to regret, for not long after, on a stormy
night, the branch gave way and fell to the ground:--

"When the bough breaks the cradle will fall,
And down will come baby, cradle and all."

Such a cavity makes a snug, warm home, and when the entrance is on the
under side of the limb, as is usual, the wind and snow cannot reach
the occupant. Late in December, while crossing a high, wooded
mountain, lured by the music of fox-hounds, I discovered fresh yellow
chips strewing the new-fallen snow, and at once thought of my
woodpeckers. On looking around I saw where one had been at