112 WASTE-LAND WANDERINGS. 



never happen that a naturalist gives up the chase. Be- 

 lieving the bird was doing its best to avoid me, I deter- 

 mined to out-wit it. I turned the boat's bow inshore, 

 and was on the point of stepping out, when there was 

 the busy woodpecker almost at my feet. But it was 

 not a bird. A curiously bent twig was caught and re- 

 leased by each passing ripple, and by its motion made 

 the tapping sound. I assumed at the outset that the 

 noise was made by a bird, and so looked for it among 

 the branches of the tall trees. How unsafe it is to be 

 positive ; yet had I gone away without seeing a wood- 

 pecker, or learning the cause of the tapping, I could 

 never have been convinced that the bird was not where 

 I supposed it to be. 



Here, months earlier, however, I did see a beautiful 

 red-bellied woodpecker that came near out-witting me. 

 It was in a hollow tree, instead of upon it, and judging 

 from the length of time it remained concealed, must 

 have found the cavernous hollow an excellent feeding 

 ground. 



This rare woodpecker has been slighted by ornitholo- 

 gists, or is a most prosaic, unentertaining bird. Wilson 

 states that it is not partial to fences, but loves tall trees. 

 Audubon says that it prefers the forest to open country. 

 These facts will apply to nearly all of the family. 



Unlike many birds, this woodpecker shows no dispo- 

 sition to suit itself to circumstances, and just as steadily 

 as our large trees are felled do they decrease in numbers. 

 In this they resemble the red-headed woodpecker. I 

 have never found their nests ; but once, in midwinter, 

 discovered a pair industriously pecking a hole in a chest- 



