SHE RAN UP THE TRUNK. 163 



like " Whit-e-ar ! Whit-e-ar ! Whit-e-ar ! " then 

 a pause, and the same repeated, and so on in- 

 definitely. It came nearer and still nearer, 

 and in a moment we saw the bird, a tiny crea- 

 ture, red-brown on the back, light below the 

 image of the little sitter in the stump, as we 

 remarked with delight ; we hoped he was her 

 mate. He did not seem inclined to go to the 

 nest, but stayed on a twig of a dead branch 

 which hung from a large tree near by. 



While the stranger was pouring out his rhap- 

 sody, head thrown back, tail hanging straight 

 down, and wings slightly drooped, I noticed a 

 movement by the nest, and fixed my eyes upon 

 that. The little dame had stolen out of her 

 place, and now began the ascent of the sapling 

 which started out one side of her small stump. 

 Up the trunk she went with perfect ease, run- 

 ning a few steps, and then pausing a moment 

 before she took the next half-dozen. She did 

 not go bobbing up like a woodpecker, nor did 

 she steady herself with her tail, like that fre- 

 quenter of tree-trunks ; she simply ran up that 

 almost perpendicular stick as a fly runs up the 

 wall. Meanwhile her mate, if that he were, 

 kept up his ringing song, till she reached the 

 top of the sapling, perhaps seven or eight feet 

 high, and flew over near him. In an instant 

 the song ceased, and the next moment two small 



