eetly, one day found herself the centre of
a mob; for these birds early learn the power of combination. She came to
her nest followed by the impertinent sparrows, who flew as close as
possible, none of them more than a foot from her. They alighted as near
as they could find perches, crowded nearer, stretched up, flew over, and
tried in every way, with an air of the deepest interest, to see what she
_could_ be doing in that hole. When she left,--which she did soon, for
she was annoyed,--the crowd did not go with her; they were bound to
explore the mystery of that opening. They flew past it; they hovered
before it; they craned their necks to peer in; they perched on a bare
twig that grew over it, as many as could get footing, and leaned far
over to see within. The young flicker retired before his inquisitive
visitors, and was seen no more till the mother came again; and then she
had to go in out of sight to find him.

As the days went on, the babe in the wood became more used to the
sunlight and the bird-sounds about him. Evidently, he was of a
meditative turn, for he did not scramble out, and rudely rush upon his
fate; he deliberated; he studied, with the air of a philosopher; he
weighed the attractions of a cool and breezy world against the comforts
and delightful obscurity of home. Perhaps, also, there entered into his
calculations the annoyance of a reporter meeting him on the threshold of
life, tearing the veil away from his private affairs. What would one
give to know the thoughts in that little brown head, on its first look
at life! Whatever the reason, he plainly concluded not to take the risk
that day, for he disappeared again behind a door that no reporter,
however glib or plausible, could pass. Sometimes he vanished with a
suddenness that was not natural. Did his heart fail him, or, perchance,
his footing give way? For whether he clung to the walls, or made
stepping-stones of his brothers and sisters (as do many of his betters,
or at least his biggers), who can tell? Often beside this eldest-born,
after the first day, appeared a second little head, spying eagerly, if a
little less bravely, on the world, and as days passed he frequently
contested the position of vantage with his brother, but he was always
second.

Mother Nature is kind to woodpeckers. She fits them out for life before
they leave the seclusion of the nursery. There is no callow, immature
period in the face of the world, no "green" age for the gi