60 BULLETIN 174, UNITED STATES NATIONAL MUSEUM 



see what followed — I did so, and, to my surprise, the Downy darted 

 after it, not allowing it to touch the ground, and then returned to the 

 evergreen, where he proceeded to pick the kernel from the hard shell." 



Henry D. Minot (1877) also mentions that they "catch insects on 

 the wing," 



Behavior. — The downy woodpecker sits very still as it digs out a 

 grub from under the bark of a tree, or from the wood under the bark, 

 or as it dislodges a bit of bark in its hunt for a cocoon or a bundle 

 of insects' eggs. We hear the gentle taps of its bill, and when our 

 eyes, led by the sound, catch sight of the bird, perched on a branch 

 or the trunk of a tree, we understand why it has been called indus- 

 trious. It is concentrated on its work; it works patiently, seriously, 

 like a carpenter working earnestly with his chisel, spending a full 

 minute, sometimes more, to secure a bit of food. 



As it sits there quietly, working painstakingly at the bark, it gives 

 the impression of a rather sedentary bird, deliberate and staid, but 

 when it begins to move about — taking short flights among the 

 the branches — alighting on little swaying twigs and flitting off again — 

 we see it in another mood. It is lively now; all deliberateness is 

 gone. It hops upward over the branches with quick jerky hops, 

 rearing back a little after each one; it may descend a little way by 

 backward hitches; it winds about the smaller branches, peering at 

 the right side, the left side, and around at the back ; it flits to a twig 

 no thicker than a pencil for the space of a single peck, and then is 

 off with the speed of an arrow, weaving and undulating through a 

 maze of branchlets, cutting the air audibly with its wings. 



We can watch the downy woodpecker best in winter when the 

 trees and shrubs are bare. But even in such an exposed situation as a 

 leafless tree, we do not find it a conspicuous bird — one hop and it is 

 hidden behind a branch, seeming almost to glide out of our sight. 

 At the slightest alarm it disappears; it uses a branch as a shield — 

 slipping behind it, safe from observation or attack. 



The bird is at home also in shrubbery, moving easily among the 

 smaller branches, hitching along their slender length, picking at the 

 bark, and leaping from one branch to another with the aid of a flip 

 of the wings. It sits crosswise on a perch scarce!}' bigger than a 

 twig, leaning forward a little, bill outstretched, suggesting in position 

 and outline a tiny kingfisher. 



Here, at close range, on a level with our eyes, we realize how rapid 

 the bird's motions are. The beak strikes and draws back — the two 

 movements a single flash. The head turns to one side, to the other 

 side, bringing first one dark shining eye, then the other, to bear on the 

 bark; we see the head in the two positions, although we get only a 

 hint of the motion between. 



