12 EVERYDAY BIRDS 



of, he suddenly lets go his hold and flies down 

 to the foot of another tree, and begins again to 

 creep upward. If you keep track of him, you 

 will see him do this hour after hour. He never 

 walks down. Up, up, he goes, and if you look 

 sharply enough, you wOl see that whenever he 

 pauses he makes use of his sharp, stiff tail- 

 feathers as a rest — a kind of camp-stool, as it 

 were, or, better still, a bracket. He is built for 

 his work; color, bill, feet, tail-feathers — all 

 were made on purpose for him. 



He is a native of the northern country, and 

 therefore to most readers of this book he is a 

 winter bird only. If you know his voice, you 

 will hear him twenty times for once that you see 

 him. If you know neither him nor his voice, it 

 wiU be worth your while to make his acquaint- 

 ance. 



When you come upon a little bunch of chick- 

 adees flitting through the woods, listen for a 

 quick, lisping note that is something like theirs, 

 but different. It may be the creeper's, for al- 

 though he seems an unsocial fellow, seldom flock- 

 ing with birds of his own kind, he is fond of the 

 chickadee's cheerful companionship. 



To see him and hear his zeep, you would never 

 take him for a songster ; but there is no telling 

 by the looks of a bird how well he can sing. In 



