36 IN BIRD LAND. 



ground on the dry leaves, where he at last succeeded 

 in capturing his prize. He gulped it down with a 

 sly wink, as much as to say : " Was n't that a clever 

 trick, sir? Beat it if you can ! " Then he picked 

 up a seed and flew with it to a twig in a dogwood 

 sapling, where he placed it under his claws, holding 

 it firmly as he nibbled it with his stout little beak. 

 His meal finished, he suddenly pretended to be 

 greatly alarmed at something, called loudly, Chick, 

 chick-a-da ! chick-a- da-da ! and darted away like 

 an Indian's arrow. 



On the same day a golden-crowned kinglet — my 

 Lilliputian of the woods — surprised me by drop- 

 ping from a twig above me to the ground, right at 

 my feet, passing within two or three inches of my 

 face. Quick as a flash he leaped to a sapling before 

 me, and I saw that he held a worm in his tiny bill. 

 Of course, that was the prize for which he had 

 dashed in such a headlong way to the ground. 



Few birds have charmed me more than the jolly 

 red-headed woodpecker, and many a quaint antic 

 has he performed with all the nonchalance of a sage 

 or a stoic. He has a queer way of taking his meals. 

 The first time it came to my notice I was walking 

 home, on a hot summer day, along a railway, when 

 a red-head bounded across the track before me, 

 holding a ripe, blood-red cherry in his beak. He 

 made a handsome picture with his pure white and 

 velvety black coat and vest, his crimson cap and 

 collar, and his — here my tropes fail, and I am 

 forced to become literal — long, black beak, tipped 



