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so unusual that for a long time I hesitated to 

 tell it. However, early one autumn, Mr. Frank 

 M. Chapman climbed up the mountainside to 

 see me, and, while resting on the way up, he 

 beheld twenty-seven nuthatches emerge from a 

 hole in a pine. 



By tapping against dead tree-trunks I have 

 often roused Mother Woodpecker from her nest. 

 Thrusting out her head from a hole far above, she 

 peered down with one eye and comically tilted 

 her head to discover the cause of the disturb- 

 ance. With long nose and head tilted to one 

 side, she had both a storky and a philosophical 

 appearance. The woodpecker, more than any 

 other bird of my acquaintance, at times actu- 

 ally appears to need only a pair of spectacles 

 upon his nose in order fully to complete his atti- 

 tude and expression of wisdom. 



The downy woodpecker, the smallest member 

 of a family of twenty-four distinguished species, 

 is the honored one. He is a confiding little fellow 

 and I have often accompanied him on his daily 

 rounds. He does not confine his attacks to the 

 concealed enemies of the trees, but preys freely 



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