ZERO BIRDS 21 
to be an early-rising workman from whom I borrowed 
some matches with which I finally discovered my 
missing eyes half buried in the snow. I attacked the 
pignut hickory with great energy to make up for 
lost time. Little by little the axe bit through the 
tough wood, until the kerf was well past the heart 
of the tree. As I chopped I could hear the quick 
strokes of a far better wood-cutter than I shall ever 
be. Suddenly he gave a loud, rattling call, and I 
recognized the hairy woodpecker. He is much larger 
than the downy, being nearly the size of a robin, 
while his call is wilder and louder and lacks the 
downward run of the downy’s note. We chopped on 
together, he at his tree and I at mine. Suddenly 
from my tree sounded a warning crack, and the 
trunk wavered for a moment. I stepped well off to 
one side, for it is dangerous to stand behind a falling 
tree. If it strikes anything as it falls the trunk may 
shoot backward. A venerable ancestor of mine, so 
the story runs, tried to celebrate his ninetieth birth- 
day by chopping down a tree, and standing behind 
it, was killed by the back-lash of the falling trunk. 
The tree swayed forward toward the crimson rim 
of the rising sun. One more stroke at its heart, and 
there was a loud series of cracks, followed by a roar 
like thunder as it crashed down. Almost immedi- 
ately, as if awakened by the noise, I began to hear 
bird-notes. From over to my left sounded a series 
of sharp, irritating alarm-notes, and in the waxing 
light I caught a glimpse of a crested blood-red bird 
at the edge of a green-brier thicket. In that same 
