bes or
superior airs of elders. A woodpecker out of the nest is a woodpecker in
the dress and with the bearing of his fathers,--dignified, serene, and
grown up.

As the sweet June days advanced, the young bird in the oak-tree grew
bolder. He no longer darted in when a saucy sparrow came near, and when
the parent arrived with food the cries became so loud that all the world
could know that here were young woodpeckers at dinner. Now, too, he
began to spend much time in dressing his plumage, in preparation for the
grand debut. Usually, when a young bird begins to dally with the
temptation to fly, so rapid is growth among birds, he may be expected
out in a few hours. In this deliberate family it is different; indeed,
taking flight must be a greater step for a woodpecker than for a bird
from an open nest.

Three days the youngster had been debating whether it were "to be or not
to be," and more and more he lingered in the doorway, sitting far enough
out to show his black necklace. His was no longer the wondering gaze of
infancy, to which all things are equally strange; it was a
discriminating look,--the head turned quickly, and passing objects drew
his attention. On the third day, too, he uttered his first genuine
woodpecker cry of "pe-auk!" He had not the least embarrassment before
me. I think he regarded me as a part of the landscape,--the eccentric
development of a tree trunk, perhaps; for while he never looked at me
nor put the smallest restraint upon his infant passions, let another
person come into the wood, and he was at once silent and on his guard.
All this time he had become more and more fascinated with the view
without his door; one could fairly see the love of the world grow upon
him. He picked at the bark about him; he began to get ideas about ants,
and ran out a long tongue and helped himself to many a tidbit.

When the young golden-wing had passed four days in this manner, he grew
impatient. The hour-long intervals between meals were not to his mind,
and he began to express himself fluently. He leaned far out, and
delivered the adult cry with great vigor and new pathos; he then bowed
violently many times, moved his mouth as if eating, and struggled
farther and still farther out, until it seemed that he could not keep
within another minute. When one of the parents came he forgot his
grown-up manner, and returned to the baby cry, loud and urgent, as if he
were starved.

He was fed, and again left; and now