A Brood Under the Mistletoe Bough. 43 



A BEOOD UNDER THE MISTLETOE BOUGH. 



In a note published some time ago, I spoke of having 

 discovered the nest of a Green Woodpecker by seeing a 

 litter of chips at the bottom of an apple-tree in my 

 orchard. The cavity in the trunk containing the nest 

 was about seven feet above the ground, and, oddly enough, 

 a fine bunch of mistletoe grew out above, partially over- 

 shadowing its orifice. Standing on tiptoe, and inserting 

 my hand into the hole, there came up out of it a chorus 

 of noises — a jarring and hissing as of goslings, seemingly 

 in anger, and loud enough to be heard full fifty yards off. 

 I say up out of it, for the hollow passage, on reaching the 

 heart of the tree, turned downward a foot or so, as I 

 could tell by the direction of the sounds. And that these 

 proceeded from a brood of young birds was equally evi- 

 dent, one of the parents seen near by flitting about among 

 the pear and apple-trees, excited and solicitous. 



As the rounded hole was not of suflBcient size to admit 

 my hand, I gave up hope of getting a look at the young 

 birds, and turned to note the behaviour of the old one — 

 no doubt the mother. She still kept in proximity to the 

 place, pitching from tree to tree, while every now and 

 then giving utterance to her strange call -note, though in 

 tone more subdued than is usual. And her solicitude 

 seemed less, or at least did not show itself in the fren- 

 zied, distracted way observable among magpies and some 

 other birds, under similar circumstances. Nor did she 

 at any time come very near. All of which I thought 

 strange, knowing the Green Woodpecker to be anything 

 but a shy bird — much less so than either jay or magpie. 



Having satisfied myself with watching her movements, 

 I left the place, intending to revisit it on the following 



