WINTER NEIGHBORS. 1) 
joining orchards, each of which has a like home and 
leads a like solitary life. One of them has excavated 
a dry limb within easy reach of my hand, doing the 
work also in September. But the choice of tree was 
not a good one; the limb was too much decayed, and 
the workman had made the cavity too large; a chip 
had come out, making a hole in the outer wall. Then 
he went a few inches down the limb and began again, 
and excavated a large, commodious chamber, but had 
again come too near the surface; scarcely more than 
the bark protected him in one place, and the limb was 
very much weakened. Then he made another attempt 
still farther down the limb, and drilled in an inch 
or two, but seemed to change his mind; the work 
stopped, and I concluded the bird had wisely aban- 
doned the tree. Passing there one cold, rainy Novem- 
ber day, I thrust in my two fingers and was surprised 
to feel something soft and warm: as I drew away my 
hand the bird came out, apparently no more surprised 
than I was. It had decided, then, to make its home 
in the old limb; a decision it had occasion to regret, 
for not long after, on a stormy night, the branch gave 
way and fell to the ground. 
‘* When the bough breaks the cradle will fall, 
And down will come baby, cradle and all.’’ 
Such a cavity makes a snug, warm home, and when 
the entrance is on the under side of the limb, as is 
usual, the wind and snow cannot reach the occupant. 
Late in December, while crossing a high, wooded 
mountain, lured by the music of fox-hounds, I dis- 
covered fresh yellow chips strewing the new-fallen 
snow, and at once thought of my woodpeckers. On 
looking around I saw where one had been at work 
excavating a lodge in a small yellow birch. The ori- 
