self. This he brandished about as a
child flourishes a whip, and presently laid it down, worried it, flung
it about, and had a rare frolic with it. Tiring of that, he closely
examined the fence, going over it inch by inch, and pecking every mark
and stain on it. When startled by a bird flying over or alighting near
him, he sprang back instantly, slipped over behind the fence or post,
and hung on by his claws, leaving only his head in sight. He was a true
woodpecker in his manners; bowing to strangers who appeared, driving
away one of his sapsucker cousins who came about, and keeping up a low
cry of "kr-r-r" almost exactly like his parents. He showed also great
interest in a party of goldfinches, who seemed to have gone mad that
morning.

Finally the thought of berries struck the young red-head. He began to
consider going for them. One could fairly see the idea grow in his mind.
He leaned over and peered into the bushes; he hitched along the fence, a
little nearer, bent over again, then came down on the side of the board,
and hung there, with body inclined toward the fruit. After many such
feints, he actually did drop to the second board, and a little later
secured a berry, which he took to the top of the post to eat. In spite
of the fact that he was amply able to help himself, as he proved, he
still demanded food when his parents came near, bowing and calling
eagerly, but not fluttering his wings, as do most young birds.

Nearly all day the little fellow entertained himself; working
industriously on the fence, hammering the posts as if to keep in
practice, as children play at their parents' life work, and varying
these occupations with occasional excursions into the bushes for
berries. The notion of flying away from where he had been left never
appeared to enter his head. He seemed to be an unusually well-balanced
young person, and intelligent beyond his years,--days, I should say.

XXII.

FROM MY WINDOW.

The best place I have found for spying upon the habits of birds is
behind a blind. If one can command a window with outside blinds, looking
upon a spot attractive to the feathered world, he will be sure, sooner
or later, to see every bird of the vicinity. If he will keep the blinds
closed and look only through the opened slats, he will witness more of
their unconstrained free ways than can possibly be seen by a person
within their sight, though he assume the attitude and the stolidity of a
wooden figure.