KNIGHTS OF THE CHISEL 



get in over my boot tops when I try it. My wife thinks 

 it is an abominable place, but Ned and I call it one of 

 the best in town, and that is saying a good deal. Both 

 of these woodpeckers drill their holes in the dead stubs, 

 pretty well up, especially Hairy, who has young well 

 grown by the time Downy has eggs. Both kinds make a 

 great fuss when we intrude upon their eggs, especially 

 if they have young. Indeed, the Hairies are so inclined 

 to borrow trouble that they begin to scold and chatter 

 as soon as they see us coming, and give away the very 

 secret which they are so anxious to conceal. 



When the cold winds blow from the icy north and 

 the ground is white with its winter carpet, everyone 

 ought to feed the birds. It is delightful to see how 

 general this custom has become. Hang up a piece of 

 fat meat on a tree near your window, out of reach of 

 cats and dogs, or even on the window sill, and you will 

 be delighted to watch the bird visitors, with their 

 animated ways and eagerly sparkling eyes. Among 

 them will almost surely be oiu- friend "Downy," and 

 sometimes "Hairy," too. They are such nervous, 

 restless, ceaselessly active little bodies, the very embodi- 

 ment of perpetual motion — especially Hairy. Yes, I 

 see that I can get along nicely by describing Downy, 

 and adding that Hairy is even more so. Really it seems 

 as though two Downies had been concentrated in 

 making one Hairy. It is always especially Hairy! 

 Hairy's nervous "specialty," though, makes him the 

 shier of the two, as might be expected. 



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