IN FIELD AND WOOD 



silently down and disappears in the interior of his 

 chestnut lodge. He will do this all winter long, com- 

 ing home, when the days are stormy, by four o'clock, 

 and not stirring out in the morning till nine or ten 

 o'clock. Some very cold, blustery days he will prob- 

 ably not leave his retreat at all. 



He has no mate or fellow lodger, though there is 

 room in his cabin for three birds at least. Where the 

 female is I can only conjecture; maybe she is occupy- 

 ing a discarded last year's lodge, as I notice there 

 are a good many new holes drilled in the trees every 

 fall, though many of the old ones still seem intact. 



During the inclement season Downy is anything 

 but chivalrous or even generous. He will not even 

 share with the female the marrow bone or bit of 

 suet that I fasten on the maple in front of my win- 

 dow, but drives her away rudely. Sometimes the 

 hairy woodpecker, a much larger bird, routs Downy 

 out and wrecks his house. Sometimes the English 

 sparrows mob him and dispossess him. In the woods 

 the flying squirrels often turn him out of doors and 

 furnish his chamber cavity to suit themselves. 



I am always content if I can bring home from my 

 walks the least bit of live natural history, as when, 

 the other day, I saw a red-headed woodpecker hav- 

 ing a tilt with a red squirrel on the trunk of a tree. 



Doubtless the woodpecker had a nest near by, and 



