82 WINTER NEIGHBORS. 
sing that morning and the first screaming of the cir. 
cling hawks, and about seven o’clock the first drum- 
ming of my little friend. His first notes were uncer- 
tain and at long intervals, but by and by he warmed 
up and beat a lively tattoo. As the season advanced 
he ceased to lodge in his old quarters. I would rap 
and find nobody at home. Was he out on a lark, I 
said, the spring fever working in his blood? After a 
time his drumming grew less frequent, and finally, in 
the middle of April, ceased entirely. Had some acci- 
dent befallen him, or had he wandered away to fresh 
fields, following some siren of his species? Probably 
the latter. Another bird that I had under observa- 
tion also left his winter-quarters in the spring. This, 
then, appears to be the usual custom. The wrens and 
the nut-hatches and chickadees succeed to these aban- 
doned cavities, and often have amusing disputes over 
them. The nut-hatches frequently pass the night in 
them, and the wrens and chickadees nest in them. I 
have further observed that in excavating a cavity for 
a nest the downy woodpecker makes the entrance 
smaller than when he is excavating his winter-quar- 
ters. This is doubtless for the greater safety of the 
young birds. 
The next fall, the downy excavated another limb in 
the old apple-tree, but had not got his retreat quite 
finished, when the large hairy woodpecker appeared 
upon the scene. I heard his loud click, click, early 
one frosty November morning. There was something 
impatient and angry in the tone that arrested my at- 
tention. I saw the bird fly to the tree where downy 
had been at work, and fall with great violence upon 
the entrance to his cavity. The bark and the chips 
flew beneath his vigorous blows, and before I fairly 
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