A QUARTET OF WOODLAND DRUMMERS 203 



some day kill the pretty balsam, the loss of one tree is a 

 small price to pay for the knowledge and pleasure to be 

 gained by watching him from day to day. 



One April day while passing through an unused field I 

 came to the spot where a large tree had once stood. During 

 a storm some years before, it had been broken by the wind 

 at a height of twelve or fifteen feet from the ground, so 

 now only a tall decayed stump was left standing. Up its 

 side, a little higher than one could reach with a walking 

 cane, was a hole about the size of a large apple. On the 

 ground beneath were many little pieces of wood like small 

 chips. 



It appeared that some one had been cutting a hole in the 

 old dead stub. A low, vigorous pounding was going on 

 inside, so I tapped on the wood with my knife to see if the 

 workman within would appear. In a moment a long bill 

 was thrust out of the hole, followed by a light brown chin 

 and a pair of black eyes, which looked sharply down as if 

 to ask what business I had there. Again I tapped and 

 out flew a bird a little larger than a robin. Its breast was 

 spotted, a large white patch was plainly seen on the lower 

 part of its back, and there was much yellow about the 

 wings and tail. It was a flicker, the bird which many 

 people call '^yellow hammer.'^ This tree was her tower, 

 and there high in that upper room, which she and her mate 



