328 Bird - Lore 



lightning, a terrible crash of thunder, a moment of silence, and the thunder 

 rumbled away into the distance. 



Mother, my sister, and I were all alone on this stormy evening. We hurried 

 to the window, thinking the barn might have been struck. One glance proved 

 that it was not the barn, but a large tree had fallen in the orchard — the one 

 with the Flicker's nest. 



To me the Flicker has always seemed out of place. He would fit better in 

 a fairy story. Before we knew his name, we called him 'the golden-winged bird.' 



The rain soon stopped and the sun came out from behind the clouds low 

 in the west, giving a golden tint to all of the fresh earth. 



I ran to the tree in the orchard. At the sight of it, I stopped suddenly. 

 The tree was broken at the Flicker's hole, and the mother bird lay there 

 motionless. I'll never forget the way I felt. 



She was wedged in so tightly that I could not get to her, but with a neighbor 

 boy's help, I managed to pull the bark away and lifted her out. Her eggs were 

 broken, but her body was still warm, and I could not believe she was dead. 



When I carried her to the house. Mother said she was lifeless, but I was 

 positive I felt her heart beating. All night long I held her in my hands, hoping 

 she would revive, but morning brought the truth. 



A tiny grave under the apple tree and a golden wing among my choicest 

 possessions are all that mark the memory of that stormy evening. — Virginia 

 June Ratliff (age 14 years), Dover, Del. 



THE LONG-TAILED CHAT 



He's a jolly fellow, 



And he chats all day. 

 His breast is yellow. 

 He swings and sings in the glorious ray 

 Of the sun, so bright. 



He is frolicsome and gay. 

 And he sings by night 



As well as by day. 



— By Philo Wood (age 8 years), Hopland, Calif. 



A CORN-EATING WOODPECKER 



Down on my Grandpa's farm, at Loveland, Ohio, a Red-headed Picker-bird 

 eats the corn. He comes to the corn-house and sticks his head through the 

 cracks and picks up the corn. Then he goes to a post and puts it on top while 

 he sits on the side. He puts his head over the top and cracks up the corn and 

 eats the pieces. If any little pieces fall on the ground he does not go after them 

 but goes back to the corn-house for more. Out in the garden there is one big 

 stalk with an ear of corn on it. He sits on this too and picks away the corn. — 

 Denning J. Peaslee (age 7 years), Norwood, Ohio. 



