NEW GLEANINGS IN OLD FIELDS 



out he came. He spends nearly half his time at the 

 suet lunch. How pretty he is! and as spry as a 

 cricket; about two thirds the size of the white- 

 breasted, he is quicker in his movements. He glides 

 round the old tree like a spirit. He does not seem 

 to have the extra joint in his neck that his larger 

 cousin has; he does not point his bill straight out 

 from the tree at right angles to it, but turns his head 

 more from side to side. I call him my baby bird, he 

 is so suggestive of babyhood. It is amusing to see 

 him come down upon a fragment of hickory-nut 

 when he has wedged it into the bark. Each blow is 

 seconded by a flash of his wings, as if the tiny wings 

 reinforced the head. One day I put out a handful of 

 cracked hickory-nuts, and he hustled them all away 

 as fast as he could carry them, hiding them here and 

 there, in the vineyard, in the summer-house, on the 

 woodpile, whether with a view to hoarding them for 

 future use, or whether in obedience to some blind 

 natural instinct, I know not. The white-breasted 

 does the same thing, but I never see either of them 

 looking up their hidden stores. 



Two downy woodpeckers, male and female, but 

 evidently not mated at this season, come many 

 times a day. The male is a savage little despot; no 

 other bird shall dine while he does. He bosses the 

 female, the female bosses the big nuthatch, the nut- 

 hatch bosses the red-breast, the red-breast bosses 

 the chickadees, the chickadees boss the brown 

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