THE DOWNY WOODPECKER 163 



My bird is a genuine little savage, doubtless, 

 but I value him as a neighbor. It is a satisfaction 

 during the cold or stormy winter nights to know 

 he is warm and cozy there in his retreat. When 

 the day is bad and unfit to be abroad in, he is 

 there too. When I wish to know if he is at home, 

 I go and rap upon his tree, and, if he is not too 

 lazy or indifferent, after some delay he shows 

 his head in his round doorway about ten feet 

 above, and looks down inquiringly upon me — 

 sometimes latterly I think half resentfully, as 

 much as to say, "I would thank you not to dis- 

 turb me so often." After sundown, he will not 

 put his head out any more when I call, but 

 as I step away I can get a glimpse of him inside 

 looking cold and reserved. He is a late riser, 

 especially if it is a cold or disagreeable morning, 

 in this respect being like the barn fowls; it is 

 sometimes near nine o'clock before I see him 

 leave his tree. On the other hand, he comes home 

 early, being in, if the day is unpleasant, by four 

 p. M. He lives all alone; in this respect I do not 

 commend his example. Where his mate is, I 

 should like to know. 



I have discovered several other woodpeckers 

 in adjoining orchards, each of which has a like 

 home, and leads a like solitary life. One of them 

 has excavated a dry limb within easy reach ol 



