96 BIRDS THROUGH AN OPERA-GLASS. 
foot of the tree and stand open-mouthed while the 
oldest child tells of a long ant procession she saw 
there when each tiny worker came to the door to 
drop its borings from its jaws. How big their 
eyes get at the story! If the woodpecker could 
only give his cousin the yellow hammer’s tragic 
sequel to it! - 
But soon they have found a new delight. A 
stem of basswood seeds whirls through the air to 
their feet. They all scramble for it. What a 
pity they have no string! The last stem they 
found was a kite and a spinning air-top for a day’s 
play. But this — never mind — there it goes up 
in the air dancing and whirling like a gay young 
fairy treading the mazes with the wind. 
“‘ Just see this piece of moss! How pretty!” 
And so they go through the woods, till the brown 
beech leaves shake with their laughter, and the 
gray squirrels look out of their oriel tree trunk 
windows to see who goes by, and the absorbed 
magician — who can tell how much fun he steals 
from his lofty observation post to make him con- 
tent with his stub ! 
Why should he fly south when every day brings 
him some secret of the woods, or some scene like 
this that his philosopher’s stone can turn to happi- 
ness ? Let us proclaim him the sage of the birds? 
If he could speak! The children would gather 
about him for tales of the woodsprites ; the stu- 
dent of trees would learn facts and figures enough 
