THE BIRD OF MANY NAMES 
glasses these could be seen falling in showers. 
H e was making rapid progress. The meadow 
lark finished his song and left. When the 
silence attracted the attention of the busy 
miner, he ceased digging and appeared 
outside. As he caught sight of us, his 
attempts at concealment were ludicrous. 
With apparent nonchalance he pecked dain- 
tily first on one side of the tree, then the 
other, a few inches away from the original 
excavation. It was as if he said, You see 
I am really not here on any especial business, 
simply hunting for my breakfast.” He 
even sauntered leisurely to the top, and 
looked about indifferently, as if nothing in 
the world could interest him. And yet 
only two minutes before he had been work- 
ing for dear life at a home in that very tree. 
I laughed aloud over his airs. He looked 
at me solemnly, as if amazed at such levity, 
and I assure you no owl can be more solemn 
and no catbird more crafty than a flicker. 
Several days before this I had watched him 
bowing and gesturing before the lady of his 
