SCALLOPING THE LEAVES. 177 



Selecting, by some esoteric wisdom, the most 

 vulnerable spot, he pushes and pounds and 

 pokes till he gets the tip of his beak under a 

 strand, and then pulls and jerks and twists till 

 he draws it out of its place. After this the 

 task is easy, and he spends hours over it, ending 

 with a hole in the matting three or four inches 

 in diameter ; for he is never discouraged, and 

 his persistence of purpose is marvelous. Books 

 are a special object of his attentions ; not only 

 does he peck the backs as they stand on the 

 shelves, till he can insert his beak and tear off a 

 bit, but if he finds one lying down he thrusts the 

 same useful instrument into the edge, slightly 

 open so as to enclose two or three leaves, and 

 then, with a dexterous twist of the head, jerks 

 out a neat little three-cornered piece. Thus he 

 goes on, and after a short absence from the room 

 I have found a great litter of white bits, and my 

 big dictionary curiously scalloped on the edges. 

 He is able to pound up as well as down, crouch- 

 ing, turning his head back, and delivering tre- 

 mendous blows on the very spot he wishes, and 

 so accurately that he easily cuts a thread, hold- 

 ing its strands under one toe. 



But hammering, though a great pleasure, is 

 not his dearest delight. The thing for which, 

 apparently, he came into the world is to put 

 small objects out of sight, — bury them, in 



