140 SIGNS AND SEASONS 



retreats the woodpeckers prefer a dry, brittle trunk, 

 not too soft. They go in horizontally to the centre 

 and then turn downward, enlarging 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 

 noticed by our ornithologists, is their habit of drum- 

 ming in the spring. They are songless birds, and 

 yet all are musicians; they make the dry limbs elo- 

 quent of the coming change. Did you think that 

 loud, sonorous 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 si- 

 lence, first three strokes following each other rap- 

 idly, 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 drum- 

 mers as is the ruff'ed grouse, and they have their 

 particular limbs and stubs to which they resort for 

 that purpose. Their need of expression is appar- 

 ently just as great as that of the song-birds, and it 



