THE VOICE OF THE SILENCE 35 



pecker family is apparent, but instead of seeking a 

 dead trunk for wood-borers he digs for the sap in a 

 healthy, vigorous limb. Perhaps he uses the sap to 

 tempt insects. There he plies his noisy trade, while 

 the inconceivable power that forces the juice 

 through the solid fibre of the wood is exerted in 

 perfect silence. Not even the Robin's car, said to 

 discern the moving of an angleworm, can detect 

 the sound of the flowing sap. 



Put an ear to the trunk and listen, for the close, 

 attentive effort makes the sound of surrounding 

 growth discernible. There are blended tones that 

 serve as a grey, indistinct background for the rapping 

 of the Woodpecker signalling to his mate or pursuing 

 his unromantic vocation, for the twittering of the 

 acrobatic Nuthatch, or the almost inaudible plaint 

 of the Wood Pewee. There seems a mysterious sound 

 in the silence, and it may not be altogether fanciful 

 to regard it as the sound of growth. On the Soft 

 Maple thousands of buds are opening, and their 

 strong scales are not turned back without the jarring 

 of minute resistance. Is it really the ear that discerns 

 a many-toned rustle $* Some of the scales and buds 

 are already dropping to the ground, heavy with the 

 saturating shower. The Elm buds, too, are bursting 

 open, and making their activity felt or heard, and the 

 elongated catkins on the Willows are throwing off 

 the coverings that sheltered them through the winter. 



