22 IN BIRD LAND. 
me, and did it several times. He would dash to 
some twigs, balance before them a moment on the 
wing, pick a nit or a worm from a dead leaf-clump, 
and then swing back to his upright perch. Once 
he found a grain of corn in a pocket of the bark, 
placed there, perhaps, by a nuthatch; but he did 
not seem to care for johnny-cake, and so he dropped 
it back into the pocket. How cunningly he canted 
his head and peered into the crannies of the bark 
for grubs, calling, Chack/ chack / 
During the entire winter he uttered only this 
harsh, stirring note, half jocose, half spiteful; but, 
greatly to my surprise, when spring arrived, espe- 
cially if the weather happened to be pleasant, he 
began to call, A-47-r/ k-t-r-r/ precisely like a 
red-headed woodpecker; indeed, at first I laid 
siege to every tree, looking in vain for a red-head 
come prematurely northward, until I discovered the 
trick of my winter intimate, the red-bellied wood- 
chopper. Why it should have been so I cannot 
explain ; but whenever a cold wave struck this lati- 
tude during the spring, he would invariably revert 
to his harsh Chack! chack/ and then when the 
breezes grew balmy again, he would resume his 
other reveille, making the woods echo. I also dis- 
covered — it was a discovery to myself, at least — 
that the red-bellied is a drummer, like most of his 
relatives; but not once did he thrum his merry 
ra-ta-ta before spring arrived,— another avian 
conundrum for the naturalist to beat his brains 
against. 
