Watch one of the handsome Red-headed birds on a fence. Down he drops to pick up an ant or a gra.s.shopper from the ground; then up he shoots to catch a wasp or beetle in the air. Nor does he stop with fly-catching.

Nutting--beech-nutting--is one of his favorite pastimes; while berries, fruits and seeds are all to his taste. If, in his appreciation of the good things that man offers, the Red-head on rare occasions takes a bit more cultivated fruit or berries than his rightful share, his attention should be diverted by planting some of his favorite wild fruits, such as dogwood, mulberry, elderberry, chokecherry, or wild black cherry.

But, in judging of what is a bird's fair share of man's crops, many things should be considered. Food is bought for the Canary and other house pets; and many people who do not care for caged pets buy food for the wild birds summer and winter, to bring them to their houses.

Flowers cost something, too. But without birds and flowers, what would the country be? Before raising his hand against a bird, a man should think of many things. A man who is unfair to a bird is unfair to himself.

[Sidenote: Feeding Habits.]

It would be a stingy man, indeed, who would begrudge the Woodp.e.c.k.e.rs their acorns and beechnuts. While the leaves are still green on the trees, the Redheads discover the beechnuts and go to work. "It is a truly beautiful sight," Dr. Merriam says, "to watch these magnificent birds creeping about after the manner of Warblers, among the small branches and twigs, which bend low with their weight, while picking and husking the tender nuts."

The nuts are not always eaten on the spot, for, like their famous California cousins, the Redheads store up food for winter use. All sorts of odd nooks and crannies serve the Redheads for storehouses--knot-holes, pockets under patches of raised bark, cracks between shingles and fences, and even railroad ties. Sometimes, instead of nuts, gra.s.shoppers and other eatables are put away in storage. The wise birds at times make real caches, concealing their stores by hammering down pieces of wood or bark over them.

Beechnuts are such a large part of the fall and winter food of the Redheads in some localities, that, like the gray squirrels, the birds are common in good beechnut winters and absent in others. Cold and snow do not trouble them, if they have plenty to eat, for, as Major Bendire says, many of them "winter along our northern border, in certain years, when they can find an abundant supply of food." In fact, in the greater part of the eastern states the Redhead is "a rather regular resident,"

but in the western part of its range "It appears to migrate pretty regularly," so that it is rare to see one "North of lat.i.tude 40, in winter." The western boundary of the Redhead's range is the Rocky Mountains, but east of the mountains it breeds from Manitoba and northern New York south to the Gulf of Mexico; though it is a rare bird in eastern New England.

[Sidenote: Migration.]

In sections where this erratic Woodp.e.c.k.e.r migrates, it leaves its nesting-grounds early in October, and returns the latter part of April or the beginning of May. Before too much taken up with the serious business of life, the Redhead goes gaily about, as Major Bendire says, "frolicking and playing hide-and-seek with its mate, and when not so engaged, amusing itself by drumming on some resonant dead limb, or on the roof and sides of houses, barns, etc." For though, like other drummers, the Woodp.e.c.k.e.rs are not found in the front ranks of the orchestra, they beat a royal tattoo that may well express many fine feelings.

When the musical spring holiday is over and the birds have chosen a tree for the nest, they hew out a pocket in a trunk or branch, anywhere from eight to eighty feet from the ground. When the young hatch, there comes a happy day for the looker-on who, by kind intent and un.o.btrusive way, has earned the right to watch the lovely birds flying back and forth, caring for their brood.

[Sidenote: Nest.]

And then, at last, come the days when the gray-headed youngsters, from hanging out of the window, boldly open their wings and launch into the air. Anxious times these are for old birds,--times when the watcher's admiration may be roused by heroic deeds of parental love; for many a parent bird fairly flaunts in the face of the enemy, as if trying to say, "Kill me; spare my young!"

One family of Redheads once gave me a delightful three weeks. When the old birds were first discovered, one was on a stub in a meadow. When joined by its mate, as the farmer was coming with oxen and hayrack to take up the rows of hayc.o.c.ks that led down the field, the pair flew slowly ahead along a line of locusts, pecking quietly at the bark of each tree before flying on. At the foot of the meadow they flew over to a small grove in the adjoining pasture.

As it was July, it was easy to draw conclusions. And when I went to the grove to investigate, the pair were so much alarmed that they at once corroborated my conclusions. Did I mean harm? Why had I come? One of them leaned far down across a dead limb and inspected me, rattling and bowing nervously; the other stationed itself on the back of a branch over which it peered at me with one eye. Both of them cried krit-tar-rah every time I ventured to take a step. As they positively would not commit themselves as to which one of the many Woodp.e.c.k.e.r holes in sight belonged to them I had to make a tour of the grove.

[Ill.u.s.tration: A SCHOOL EXHIBIT.]

[Ill.u.s.tration: WAYNE TOWNSHIP CENTRALIZED SCHOOL LOCATED AT LEES CREEK, CLINTON COUNTY, OHIO.]

On its edge was a promising old stub with a number of big, round holes and, picking up a stick, I rapped on the trunk. Both birds were over my head in an instant, rattling and scolding till you would have thought I had come to chop down the tree and carry off the young before their eyes. I felt injured, but having found the nest could afford to watch from a distance.

It was not long before the old birds began feeding their young. They would fly to the stub and stand under the nest while rousing the brood by rattling into the hole, which had the odd effect of m.u.f.fling their voices. When, as they flew back and forth a Yellow-hammer stopped in pa.s.sing, they drove him off in a hurry. They wanted that grove to themselves.

On my next visits, if, in spite of many precautions, they discovered me, they flew to dead tree tops to watch me, or startled me by an angry quarr' quarr' quarr' over my head. When they found that I made no attempt to go near the nest, however, they finally put up with me and went about their business.

After being at the nest together they would often fly off in opposite directions, to hunt on different beats. If one hunted in the grove, the other would go out to the rail fence. A high maple was a favorite lookout and hunting-ground for the one who stayed in the grove, and cracks in the bark afforded good places to wedge insects into. The bird who hunted on the fence, if suspecting a grub in a rail, would stand motionless as a Robin on the gra.s.s, apparently listening; but when the right moment came would drill down rapidly and spear the grub. If an insect pa.s.sed that way the Redhead would make a sally into the air for it, sometimes shooting straight up for fifteen or twenty feet and coming down almost as straight; at others flying out and back in an ellipse, horizontally or obliquely up in the air or down over the ground. But oftener than all, perhaps, it flew down onto the ground to pick up something which its sharp eyes had discovered there. Once it brought up some insect, hit it against the rail, gave a business-like hop and flew off to feed its young.

The young left the nest between my visits, but when, chancing to focus my gla.s.s on a pa.s.sing Woodp.e.c.k.e.r I discovered that its head was gray instead of red, I knew for a certainty what had happened. The fledgling seemed already much at home on its wings. It flew out into the air, caught a white miller and went back to the tree with it, shaking it and then rapping it vigorously against a branch before venturing to swallow it. When the youngster flew, I followed rousing a Robin who made such an outcry that one of the old Redheads flew over in alarm. "Kik-a-rik, kik-a-rik," it cried as it hurried from tree to tree, trying to keep an eye on me while looking for the youngster. Neither of us could find it for some time, but after looking in vain over the west side of a big tree I rounded the trunk and found it calmly sitting on a branch on the east side--which goes to prove that it is never safe to say a Woodp.e.c.k.e.r isn't on a tree, till you have seen both sides!

The old Redhead found the lost fledgling about the time that I did and flew over to it with what looked like a big grub. At the delectable sight, the youngster dropped all its airs of independence, and with weak infantile cries turned and opened wide its bill!

Two days later I found two birds that may have been father and son, on the side of a gladpole, out in the big world together. The old bird's head glowed crimson in the strong sunlight, and it was fortunate indeed that only friends were by.

The striking tricolor makes the Redheads such good targets that they are in especial danger from human enemies and need loyal, valiant defenders wherever they live. And what a privilege it is to have birds of such interesting habits and beautiful plumage in your neighborhood!

How the long country roads are enlivened, how the green fields are lit up, as one of the brilliant birds rises from a fence-post and flies over them! In the city, it is rare good luck, indeed, to have a pair nest in an oak where you can watch them and even a pa.s.sing glimpse or an occasional visit is something to be thankful for.

"There's the Redhead!" you exclaim exultantly, when a loud tattoo beats on your city roof in spring. And "There's the Redhead!" you cry with delight, as a soft kikarik comes from a leafless oak you are pa.s.sing in winter; and the city street, so dull and uninteresting before, is suddenly illumined by the sight.

--_Reprinted from Bird-lore._

FOUR LEAF CLOVERS.

I know a place where the sun is like gold, And the cherry blooms burst with snow, And down underneath is the loveliest nook, Where the four-leaf clovers grow.

One leaf is for hope, and one is for faith, And one is for love, you know, But G.o.d put another in for luck-- If you search, you will find where they grow.

But you must have hope, and you must have faith, You must love and be strong, and so If you work, if you wait, you will find the place Where the four-leaf clovers grow.

--_Ella Higginson._

THE FLOWER FOLK.

Hope is like a harebell trembling from its birth, Love is like a rose the joy of all the earth; Faith is like a lily lifted high and white, Love is like a lovely rose, the world's delight; Harebells and sweet lilies show a thornless growth But the rose with all its thorns excels them both.

--_Christina G. Rossetti._

ARBOR DAY MARCH.

AIR--"MARCHING THROUGH GEORGIA."

Celebrate the Arbor Day With march and song and cheer, For the season comes to us But once in every year; Should we not remember it, And make the memory dear, Memories sweet for this May day.

CHORUS.

Hurrah! Hurrah! The Arbor Day is here; Hurrah! Hurrah! It gladdens every year, So we plant a young tree on blithesome Arbor Day, While we are singing for gladness.

ARBOR DAY SONG.

(AIR: HOLD THE FORT.)