210 THE CLERK OF THE WOODS 



suet in the trees, and pretty often to a piece 

 that is nailed upon one of my window-sills. 

 I hear the fellow's pleasant, contented, gut- 

 tural, grunting notes, and rise to look at him, 

 liking especially to watch the tidbits as they 

 travel one after another between his long 

 mandibles. Even if he does not call out, I 

 know that it is he, and not a chickadee, by 

 the louder noise he makes in driving his bill 

 into the fat. 



I have fancied, all winter, that the birds 

 these two nuthatches, I mean were 

 mated, seeing them so often together ; and 

 perhaps they are ; but the other day I wit- 

 nessed a little performance that seemed to 

 put another complexion upon the case. I 

 was leaving the yard when I heard bird notes, 

 repeated again and again, which I did not 

 recognize. To the best of my recollection 

 they were quite new. I looked up into a 

 tree, and there were the two nuthatches, one 

 chasing the other from branch to branch, 

 with that peculiarly dainty, fluttering, min- 

 cing action of the wings, a sort of will-you-be- 

 mine motion, which birds are given to using 

 in the excitement of courtship. There could 



