88 THE LOG OF THE SUN 



ntunerons little sap wells, the effect becomes ap- 

 parent in the lessened circulation of the liquid 

 blood of the tree ; and before long, death is certain 

 to ensue. So the work of the sapsucker is inju- 

 rious, while the grub-seeking woodpeckers confer 

 only good upon the trees they frequent. 



And how pitiful is the downfall of a doomed 

 tree! Hardly has its vitality been lessened an 

 appreciable amount, when somehow the word is 

 passed to the insect hordes who hover about in 

 waiting, as wolves hang upon the outskirts of a 

 herd of buffalo. In the spring, when the topmost 

 branches have received a little less than their 

 wonted amount of wholesome sap and the leaves 

 are less vigorous, the caterpillars and twig- 

 girdlers attack at once. Ichneumen flies and bor- 

 ing beetles seem to know by signs invisible to us 

 that here is opportunity. Then in the fall come 

 again the sapsuckers to the tree, remorselessly 

 driving hole after hole through the still untouched 

 segments of its circle of life. When the last sap- 

 channel is pierced and no more can pass to the 

 roots, the tree stands helpless, waiting for the 

 end. Swiftly come frost and rain, and when the 

 April suns again quicken all the surrounding 

 vegetation into vigorous life, the victim of the 

 sapsuckers stands lifeless, its branches reaching 

 hopelessly upward, a naked mockery amid the 

 warm green foliage around. Insects and fungi 

 and lightning now set to work unhindered, and 



