One Family of Flickers 349 



the spot, I picked up the five fledglings, now dead, and was wondering what to 

 do, when I heard a whir, a scream, and another and then another ! Where once 

 had been all was now nothing, and they could not understand. Up and down 

 the ugly, gaping tree-wound, over it, around it, they go screaming and scream- 

 ing. Gone for a moment, then back to repeat the hunt! For two days this 

 continued, then a few days of dispirited loneliness, and then a new limb is 

 selected, a new hole is made, and this time quickly, for summer approaches 

 high tide, and once more glossy, white eggs, are safe and snug in a warm, dark 

 hole. Again the long wait; once moie there are little ones to feed; and then, 

 after a while, one baby head, and then two, three, four, and five, peep out. 

 Later five speckled birds sprawl flappily among the elm leaves. 



When old enough to take down to the flats where the coveted ants abound, 

 they made a charming picture — this flock of seven. They were always together, 

 and I could sit close to them and witness many a cunning play. They loved our 

 old home, with its wide-mouthed chimneys and long water-spouts on which 

 such glorious 'music' could be made. One used to hang on the kitchen screen. 

 where I put suet for him. A newsboy hurt one, and I cared for his wound. 

 Another lost his way in one of the chimneys and my husband tore the gas- 

 fixtures out to rescue him, and had hard work to hold him so his strong bill 

 did no damage. We stroked and petted him awhile, then released him, and his 

 Indian-like yell as he spread his lovely wings was a song of triumph. He circled 

 our grounds several times and then flew home ! 



We had many Flickers. We loved and encouraged them in all possible ways 

 to stay with us. The ivy berries were a source of delight after Jack Frost 

 closed the ant-hills and insect hum was hushed. As I write I hear the long roll- 

 ing tattoo, the high, sustained tat-tat-tat-tat-tat, and I feel it is his farewell. 

 Perhaps I shall see him 



When the primrose makes a splendid show, 

 When lilacs face the March winds in full blow, 

 And humbler growth as moved with one desire 

 Put on to welcome spring, their best attire. 



