g could be
seen; but the whole curious process was plain two days later, when a
young golden-wing appeared at the opening and met his supplies half-way.
The food-bearer clung to the bark beside the entrance, leaned over,
turned his head on one side, and thrust his beak within the slightly
opened beak of his offspring. In this position he gave eight or ten
quick little jerks of his head, which doubtless represented so many
mouthfuls; then, drawing back his head, he made a motion of the throat,
as though swallowing, which was, presumably, raising instead, for he
leaned over again and repeated the operation in the waiting mouth. This
performance was gone through with as many as three or four times in
succession before one flicker baby was satisfied. After the nestlings
came up to the door, the parents went no more inside, as a rule, and
housekeeping took care of itself.

On the fifteenth day of his life, as said above, the eldest scion of the
golden-wing family made his appearance at the portal of his home. The
sight and the sound of him came together, for he burst out at once with
a cry. It was not very loud, but it meant something, and the practice of
a day or two gave it all the strength that was desirable. In fact, it
became clamorous to a degree that made further attempts at concealment
useless, and no one was quicker to recognize it than the parents. The
baby cry was the utterance familiar from the grown-up birds as "wick-a!
wick-a! wick-a!" From this day, when one of the elders drew near the
tree, it was met at the opening by an eager little face and a begging
call; but it was several days before the recluse showed interest in
anything except the food supply. Meals were now nearly an hour apart,
and the moment one was over the well-fed youngster in the tree fell back
out of sight, probably to sleep, after the fashion of babies the world
over. But all this soon came to an end. The young flicker began to
linger a few minutes after he had been fed, and to thrust his beak out
in a tentative way, as if wondering what the big out-of-doors was like,
any way.

Matters were going on thus prosperously, when a party of English
sparrows, newly fledged, came to haunt the wood in a small flock of
eighteen or twenty; to meddle, in sparrow style, with everybody's
business; and to profane the sweet stillness of the place with harsh
squawks. The mistress of the little home in the oak, who had conducted
her domestic affairs so discr