her again began his persuasive chatter, but all to no purpose; she gave a decided answer and flew away.

After a little hesitation he followed her. In about an hour they came back. After some maneuvering about the yard he got her back to the nest, but not in it. He tried in every way, but no amount of coaxing could induce her to go in, and refusing to listen longer to his argument, she again flew away. Now he was disconsolate, flying away, then returning to go in and take another look at the nest, then flying to the housetop to pout. Yes, pout, for at all other times he would drum and make a great deal of noise; now, he was sulky and silent.

Next morning they came back, when, if possible, he tried harder than ever to get her to inspect the nest, but without success. She was obdurate, and, after sitting quiet until he was through his demonstrations and chatter, she flew away over the fields, uttering a loud cry as she left him sticking to the side of the tree. He sat still a few moments, seemingly in a brown study, then he began hopping about the trunk of the tree, where in a short time he had selected a place and gone to work with a will in making a new nest, that was completed in a little more than eight days. Very little was seen of the female during the completion of the new home. She was in the yard a few times, but never near the tree where the male was at work.

He had made no mistake this time, the entrance was round and clean cut as an augur hole. When the madam was escorted to the new nest there was no hesitation about inspecting it; she entered at once. Coming out a moment later, she made it known that the nest was satisfactory. Then the old man was jubilant, expressing it by voice and action. From this moment domestic affairs went on as usual and the family jar was forgotten, so far as an outsider could observe.

Eggs, baby birds, busy days, fall and southern journey, ended this year with my pleasant summer neighbor.

III.

Many times during the following winter they were the subject of my thoughts. I wondered where they were and whether they would return. Yes, early one morning of the next spring I was awakened by his beating a reveille in the same old place on the roof-board of the cabin. With little delay he selected a place for the new home. Then followed a fortnight of hard work and vigilance when the excavation was completed and only awaited the coming of his better half, who was as prompt in her arrival.

There are families to raise; there are thousands of flies, bugs and beetles to catch, for which they are never given credit, but let them take a berry and it is “Johnnie, get your gun.” Early one bright morning in July there was noise and bustle about the woodpecker home. It was not difficult to guess what was going to take place. The parents were close by the nest on the side of the tree. The little birds had crowded out of the entrance, eager for their first flight, which, like the first tottering steps of a baby, is attended with much chatter and nonsense that is not understood.

The mother set an example by flying to a tree some fifty feet distant. The little birds followed with a labored effort and, striking the tree with a thud near the ground, managed to stick fast. Now began their arboreal life of tree climbing at which they were awkward at first and had many falls. The young birds were a soft smoky gray. There was no sign as yet of the cardinal cap and white bodice with black chevrons, which would make them so conspicuous during the next year.

In their daily visits to the yard each parent chaperoned one of the baby birds, teaching it all the tricks in the woodpecker trade, as they conducted it from tree to tree where they searched amid the bark and worm holes for morsels of food that had been secreted there.

One day late in October they failed to return; this ended another year and brought another separation.

IV.

As promptly as ever the following spring found my summer tourists in their old haunts, each year getting a little closer if possible to the cabin with their nest.

Household affairs went along smoothly till one day the old man was keeping house while the madam had gone out for lunch. At the expiration of about twenty minutes he came out of the nest. As he flew away he gave a loud call that on former occasions had invariably brought his mate to take charge of the nest, but to this call she did not answer. She never returned. He waited a few moments, calling for her, then returned to the nest. Ten minutes later he came out again, repeating the call several times as he flew from tree to house and back again to the nest, about which he showed much concern. Five minutes more and for the third time he left the nest, flying down in the orchard where the female often went for food. Soon returning he went direct to the nest, seeming to understand that some misfortune had overtaken his mate.

Like Mark Tapley, when the occasion demanded he came out strong, for with scarcely an intermission he stuck to the nest for the next three days. Then he carried out the broken shells and began bringing food for two mouths that were always agape. With a desire to assist him I daily placed bits of food on a certain stump in the yard. He soon came to understand the meaning of my visits and to regard these tit-bits as belonging to himself. He would fly to the house top and watch me put out the food. As soon as I turned away he would drop off the roof, spread his wings, slide down on the air with a long graceful sweep, bringing up on the edge of the stump.

Nodding and chattering, he hitched around the stump, tasting each bit of food, eating what he liked, but rarely giving any of this food to the babies. No matter whether he ate it or not, no other bird was permitted to trespass.

The undivided care of the family left little time for personal attention. He looked shabby and forlorn by the time the young birds were old enough to quit the nest and seek their own food. Then he spent much time in mending his appearance.

Each passing year my attachment had grown for my summer visitors. The thought that he might never return, owing to the loss of his mate, worried me.

The summer passed; the days grew short and the night grew frosty. The blackbird family would soon be on their way to the sunny south, and I should miss their familiar voices and many cunning pranks about the yard.

V.

Early one May morning the next spring I was greatly pleased to hear the well remembered call. I knew my old-time friend had come to spend his summer sojourn in the yard amid the scenes of former years.

He flitted about the yard in his old familiar way, tapping off his short quick rattle on the roof-board which reverberated through the cabin.

He was happy again. Why not? He had brought with him a new bride. She was afraid of me. He showed her by example that I would not hurt them, but on sight of me she slipped around the stumps and trees, and at the least approach flew away.

William Harrison Lewis.

BEAUTIFUL SNOW.