MY WOODLAND INTIMATES 



pride keep him from recognizing and rectifying 

 any errors he may have made in constructing the 

 abode which is to shelter his dear ones. Their 

 comfort and safety are his first consideration. 



But see; although he still remains flattened 

 against the tree, he suddenly looks away from his 

 work and seems to be gazing in our direction. 

 Has he discovered us, and does he resent our pres- 

 ence ? Is that prolonged stare a gentle intimation 

 that the neighborhood is not large enough to ac- 

 commodate us all ? 



Ah, no, he heeds us not. It is of another voice 

 that he is taking note. He is listening to that 

 loud rapid quick-quick-quick-quick-quick-quick. 

 And now a bird with widespread, golden-lined 

 wings makes its way toward the old maple. Is 

 this the architect's mate? Yes, she alights beside 

 him before closing her wings giving us an op- 

 portunity to note the distinctive family mark, a 

 conspicuous white patch at the base of the tail. 

 Now two red crescents appear beside the opening 

 in the tree. Two gray heads turn from side to 

 side in affectionate inspection of the progress of 

 the work ; but only on the cheeks of the first work- 

 er do we see the black patches by which one recog- 

 nizes the male. Yet I fancy that, even had we not 



