184 A WOODLAND COASTER. 



Like most of his companions in plumes, our 

 creeper is quite an athlete. When he flings him- 

 self from his lofty perch near the tree-top, it seems 

 as if he had been discharged from a gun, so swift 

 is his flight. The eye catches only a flash of brown 

 and white, and must be exceedingly swift and alert 

 to follow him to tlie trunk he aims at for a target. 

 How recklessly he flings himself ! One wonders 

 whether he really does take aim, or merely makes 

 a blind dash toward the ground, alighting wherever 

 he happens to strike. And then he pelts a tree 

 with such force one cannot help wondering that 

 he does not dash himself to pieces by the concus- 

 sion. Still, I do not worry about him, for I long 

 ago came to the conclusion that Master, or Mister 

 (perhaps Miss or Mistress) Brown Creeper under- 

 stands his (or her) business fully as well as I do 

 mine, if not better. 



As you thread your way through the tangle- 

 wood, you will often hear the alarm-call of the 

 creeper long before you see his form outlined 

 against a tree-trunk. This call is a fine, tremu- 

 lous, half-plaintive note, and may be represented 

 thus, '•' Z-e-e-e-m^ z-e-e-e-m ! '"^ When he darts to 

 another perch, he frequently announces that fact 

 by a quick, nervous little call, as if he had been 



