146 SIGNS AND SEASONS 



was evidently a young bird, not yet having the 

 plumage of the mature male or female, and yet he 

 knew which tree to tap and where to tap it. I 

 saw where he had bored several maples in the 

 vicinity, but no oaks or chestnuts. I nailed up a 

 fat bone near his sap-works : the downy woodpecker 

 came there several times a day to dine; the nut- 

 hatch came, and even the snowbird took a taste 

 occasionally; but this sapsucker never touched it; 

 the sweet of the tree sufficed for him. This wood- 

 pecker does not breed or abound in my vicinity; 

 only stray specimens are now and then to be met 

 with in the colder months. As spring approached, 

 the one I refer to took his departure. 



I must bring my account of my neighbor in the 

 tree down to the latest date; so after the lapse of 

 a year I add the following notes. The last day of 

 February was bright and spring-like. I heard the 

 first sparrow sing that morning and the first scream- 

 ing of the circling hawks, and about seven o'clock 

 the first drumming of my little friend. His first 

 notes were uncertain and at long intervals, but by 

 and by he warmed up and beat a lively tattoo. As 

 the season advanced he ceased to lodge in his old 

 quarters. I would rap and find nobody at home. 

 Was he out on a lark, I said, the spring fever 

 working in his blood 1 After a time his drumming 

 grew less frequent, and finally, in the middle of 

 April, ceased entirely. Had some accident befallen 

 him, or had he wandered away to fresh fields, fol- 

 lowing some siren of his species? Probably the 



