IN FIELD AND WOOD 



post, then it suddenly stops and Downy's head ap- 

 pears at the door . He glances at me suspiciously and 

 then hurries away in much excitement. 



How did he know there was some one so near? As 

 birds have no sense of smell it must have been by 

 some other means. I return to my study and in 

 about fifteen minutes Downy is back at work. Again 

 I cautiously and silently approach, but he is now 

 more alert, and when I am the width of three grape 

 rows from him he rushes out of his den and lets off 

 his sharp, metallic cry as he hurries away to some 

 trees below the hill. 



He does not return to his work again that after- 

 noon. But I feel certain that he will pass the night 

 there and every night all winter unless he is dis- 

 turbed. So when my son and I are passing along the 

 path by his post with a lantern about eight o'clock in 

 the evening, I pause and say, "Let's see if Downy 

 is at home." A slight tap on the post and we hear 

 Downy jump out of bed, as it were, and his head 

 quickly fills the doorway. We pass hurriedly on and 

 he does not take flight. 



A few days later, just at sundown, as I am walking 

 on the terrace above, I see Downy come sweeping 

 swiftly down through the air on that long galloping 

 flight of his, and alight on the big maple on the brink 

 of the hill above his retreat. He sits perfectly still 

 for a few moments, surveying the surroundings, and, 

 seeing that the coast is clear, drops quickly and 

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