154 WINTER NEIGHBORS. 



larging the tunnel as they go, till when finished it is 

 the shape of a long, deep pear. 



Another trait our woodpeckers have that endears 

 them to me, and that has never been pointedly no- 

 ticed by our ornithologists, is their habit of drumming 

 in the spring. They are songiess birds, and yet all 

 are musicians ; they make the dry limbs eloquent of 

 the coming change. Did you think that loud, sono- 

 rous hammering which proceeded from the orchard 

 or from the near woods on that still March or April 

 morning was only some bird getting its breakfast ? 

 It is downy, but he is not rapping at the door of a 

 grub ; he is rapping at the door of spring, and the 

 dry limb thrills beneath the ardor of his blows. Or, 

 later in the season, in the dense forest or by some 

 remote mountain lake, does that measured rhythmic 

 beat that breaks upon the silence, first three strokes 

 following each other rapidly, succeeded by two louder 

 ones with longer intervals between them, and that 

 has an effect upon the alert ear as if the solitude 

 itself had at last found a voice does that suggest 

 anything less than a deliberate musical performance ? 

 In fact, our woodpeckers are just as characteristically 

 drummers as is the" ruffed grouse, and they have their 

 particular limbs and stubs to which they resort for 

 that purpose. Their need of expression is apparently 

 just as great as that of the song-birds, and it is not 

 surprising that they should have found out that there 

 is music in a dry, seasoned limb which can be evoked 

 beneath their beaks. 



