into
a certain hollow well known to the writer, and one of the steep
hillsides was covered with timber of a medium-sized growth. One day I
was listening to a concert given by a company of towhees and cardinals,
which were sitting in the trees at the lower border of the woodland. A
flock of cedar waxwings were also "tseeming" in the top of a tree,
darting out at intervals into the air for insects. Suddenly every song
ceased, and the whole company dashed down, pellmell, hurry-skurry, into
the thick brush heaps of the hollow. At the same moment, or perhaps a
moment later--it all occurred so quickly I could not be exact--a covey
of juncos hurled themselves with reckless swiftness into the brush
pile, followed by a sparrow hawk, which uttered a queer, uncanny call
that meant death to any little bird that should be overtaken.
He flung himself through a network of branches and twigs and lightly
struck the ground below, his wings partly opening as he lit, to break
the force of the concussion. He had dashed directly over my head.
Before I could collect my wits he gathered himself together, wormed his
way out through the branches in some way, and darted off up the
opposite slope. He had failed to secure his prize, but it was
wonderful how so large a bird could slip through the network of
branches and extricate himself without striking a quill against a twig.
The extreme watchfulness of the small birds cannot fail to excite
wonder in the mind of the observer. In the case just referred to not
one of the birds was taken unaware, although some of them were singing
gaily, and others were busy feeding. Never for a moment do the birds
become so absorbed in their eating or work or play as to forget that a
foe may be lurking near. One cannot help wondering how they can be
happy. Suppose we were compelled to be incessantly on the lookout for
danger, should we ever have a moment of peace or joy?
A red-breasted woodpecker was chiseling out a nursery in a tall
sycamore at the border of a woodland. At some distance, far enough
away not to alarm her, I watched the dame at her work. This was her
method of procedure, hour by hour: She would plunge head first into the
hole, only her barred tail being visible, give three or four vigorous
dabs with her bill, then emerge and look around in every direction for
danger; seeing none, into the cavity her crimson-crowned head would
again disappear, only to emerge again a second later. No
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