949 THE STORY OF THE BIRDS. 
some one passed and she left. Next night she came 
again, and was there when I left her. Next April 
I chanced at the same time of day to see the flash of 
a wing at the same spot. It was the flicker again, 
and by stealing around I saw with the glass that it 
was a female. Was it the same? I can only think 
so. Perhaps it was on its migratory journey farther 
North, and not acquainted with the best (hotels) 
sleeping places of the region, else she would more 
likely have been in some hole. But I found her 
sleeping there later through the summer. Many 
flickers doubtless roost in exposed places. 
The jay is nearly always in view, and I saw him 
one spring make the flicker almost ashamed of him- 
self, while he danced on the ground before his mate. 
His pirouettes were as graceful as those of the aver- 
age dancer, and he always kept his back with its bril- 
liant markings toward his partner. Like some others, 
he may have felt that his strong points lay neither in 
his head nor his heart; so he went in strongly on his 
feet and his figure. 
I often wonder if they are the same that are 
hatched in the yard. From a certain suspiciousness 
I suspect not. But this is a poor criterion. Many 
birds, as robins, are wild in winter and confiding in 
summer. The little boy had a pet jay one summer 
which, when grown, escaped to his parents. I often 
met him out, when he would whine back an answer 
to my call, and flutter his wings begging me to come 
and feed him, but never suffering a near approach. 
Inasmuch as he left us late in the fall I suspected 
