178 GRAY LADY AND THE BIRDS 
“No birds?” said Gray Lady, raising her eyebrows. 
“Open the window nearest you, Sarah, and do both you 
and Eliza look out and listen.” 
“T don’t see anything, and I only hear different kinds 
of squeaks,” said Eliza. 
“T hear the squeaks,” said Sarah, “‘ but I see a gray bird 
out here on the roof, with black on top of his head and 
white underneath, and he’s got a long beak and a short 
tail. Why, he’s just stuffed something that he had in 
his beak in between the shingles. Now he’s crying 
‘quank-quank’ and flying toward the orchard.” 
“That,” said Gray Lady, “is the White-breasted 
Nuthatch, one of our best winter friends, for though he 
summers with us, like the Chickadee and the Wood- 
peckers, it is not until the other birds have gone, and 
the trees are bare of leaves, that we really seem to see 
and appreciate him. 
“This Nuthatch is one of the tree-trunk birds that you 
will learn to know so well, before winter is over, that 
you will never forget them; for, though they have no 
song to speak of, their cleverness and the good they do 
when other birds have gone more than make up for 
lack of music.” 
“What do you mean by tree-trunk birds?” asked 
Clary; “I thought that birds liked leafy branches the 
best.” 
“Most birds do prefer the leafy branches,” said Gray 
Lady; “that is why I call this little group, who do not, 
‘tree-trunk birds,’ for all their little lives are spent so 
close to the heart of the wood that they seem almost to 
be parts of the tree. 
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