The Road to Dumbiedykes 



call, a sleepy little head now appears 

 in the aperture; eyes blink, and the 

 owner settles back out of sight un- 

 doubtedly for forty more blessed winks. 

 An empty wagon is rumbling down the 

 road. Clark's calves are bawling for 

 their breakfast. Evidently the farm 

 hands are stirring somewhere for in 

 the distance pigs are squealing. I 

 know that note. It calls for corn. 

 Hello! Again the flicker's face, framed 

 in solid oval oak. This time the bird 

 is fully roused. She perches for an 

 instant in the entrance to the tree's 

 interior, yawns, and takes an observa- 

 tion. Although I am but a few arm's 

 lengths away, she does not know it, 

 or if she does gives no sign of interest. 

 She looks first up, then down; now side- 

 ways, then hops out, clings for a 

 moment to the rough tree trunk, then 

 wings her way to where she knows a 

 good fat grub-worm waits. 



About 4*15 a mocking bird perches 

 on the topmost branch of our tallest 

 [78] 



