The Sapsucker 123 



the one keeping vigil that the time for the relief was due. At all events, 

 the call was frequently answered from the branches near and sometimes by 

 the coming of the absent mate. The Warbling Vireo also has this habit of 

 singing while on the nest, as does also the Chebec, or Least Flycatcher, 

 with its unmusical hiccough. My Yellow -throats were very faithful to their 

 young, of which there were three. The male bird fed them as attentively 

 as did the mother. 



7. On July 7, nearly a month from the beginning of the brooding, the 

 first young bird left the nest. It seemed to take good care of itself, keep- 

 ing to the trees, and the next day the other two followed it. One of these 

 found its way to the lawn, and as there was danger about in the shape of 

 cats, I played the Good Samaritan, lifting it up to a twig of the tree. In 

 doing this the little creature caught its feet about my little finger. It 

 seemed as if I should never be able to loosen its hold. I never could have 

 believed such strength of clutch possible in so tiny a subject ! But then I 

 was able to understand why they had been able to keep to the nest. The 

 elm tree which had been their home stood close by the northwest corner of 

 the house. Through many thunder storms which came to us in that 

 month of June I have seen that slight branch from the body of the elm 

 whip in the blast as if it would be torn from its setting in the great trunk. 

 The nest would, be top-down and driven every way, and yet never a 

 fledgling fell from its place. No wonder there had come a development of 

 clutching power ! 



The Sapsucker 



BY EDITH M. THOMAS 



A bacchant for sweets is the Sapsucker free! 



"The spring is here, and I'm thirsty!" quoth he: 

 There's good drink, and plenty, stored up in this cave 



'Tis ready to broach!" quoth the Sapsucker brave. 



?< 



A bacchant for sweets! " 'Tis nectar I seek!" 



And he raps on the tree with his sharp-whetted beak 



And he drinks, in the wild March wind and the sun, 

 The coveted drops, as they start and run. 



He girdles the maple round and round — 



'Tis heart-blood he drinks at each sweet wound; 



And his bacchanal song is the tap-tap-tap, 



That brings from the dark, the clear-flowing sap. — 



