Phyllis sat in her own room, rocking her doll to sleep. The window was open and the curtain flapped idly in the breeze.

Presently into the room darted a bird. He was beautifully dressed. His soft gray uniform was spotted and barred with white.

He did not seem in the least alarmed when he found himself in the room with Phyllis. He perched on the window-ledge and did not even glance at the little girl.

In a moment he flew to the ledge above her door. With his strong little bill he began to rap, rap, rap at the wood.

"You act like a woodpecker, but you do not look like one," said Phyllis.

"That shows that you do not know all about woodpeckers," said the gray, downy bird. "I belong to the family of red-headed woodpeckers."

"You?" cried Phyllis, amazed. "But where is your red cap, and where is your white vest, and where is your black coat? You are trying to fool me, my friend."

"My father and mother have crimson heads and necks and throats. They have white breasts. They have black backs and wings and tails. When they fly, the broad white bands on the wings are quite plain to be seen.

"My home nest is that in the trunk of the old oak by the gate."

"It is very queer," said Phyllis. "Perhaps some other bird laid an egg in the woodpeckers' nest by mistake."

The small bird fluttered quite helplessly with laughter.

"Oh, no, Phyllis, I see I have to tell you all about it. I am a woodpecker, surely. But I am quite young yet. It is not a week since I had my first lesson in flying."

"You fly very well for a young bird," said Phyllis.

"Well, my mother is very wise," said the bird.

"She does not think it well for her babies to get out of the nest until they have grown quite large. She says that if we wait until our wings are strong we will not be so apt to fall into danger.

"So I remained inside the nest until I was quite a large, strong bird. Then my parents called me out and taught me to fly.

"Only yesterday I asked my mother why I did not wear a dress and cap like her own.

"She said, 'Wait a little longer, my child. When you are quite grown your cap will be as red as my own. You will look so much like your father and me that those children down there will be unable to tell us apart.'

"It is little wonder that you did not know me for a woodpecker in this simple gray dress. All woodpecker children, however, dress in this quiet fashion at first. I shall be happy when I get my gorgeous red cap."

"Well," said Phyllis, "I am very glad you came to see me. I knew there was a nest in the old oak-tree. I watched your father and mother one whole morning a few weeks ago. I think they chose the oak because of those old dead branches.

"I saw your mother brace herself against the tree with her stiff tail. Then how her wedge-shaped bill rapped and rapped against the wood. For fully twenty minutes she rapped away at the rotten wood. Then she grew tired and your father took her place at the tree-trunk.

"Soon they pecked a hole deep enough to hide them from sight, but their constant rap, rap, rap could still be heard.

"I wondered how deep they made the hole, but it was too high for me to climb to find out."

"Having just come from the nest I can tell you all about it," replied the young woodpecker. "My parents dug down into the soft trunk to a depth of perhaps eighteen inches. At the bottom they hollowed out a large roomy place for the nest. They did not line it with feathers or grasses. Instead of a bed of moss was a little sawdust and the smooth white sides of the oak.

"In this nest my mother laid six pure white eggs. She sat on them and kept them warm until at last six downy birds came out of the shells.

"We were hungry little things. Both our mother and father were kept busy filling our greedy, ever-open mouths.

"And whatever they brought was sure to be very nice. Sometimes it was a cherry or a berry, sometimes a bit of pear or apple.

"But, best of all, were the fat, juicy little grubs which they often brought.

"I asked my father where he got the grubs. He made fun of me and called out to my mother in his shrill, lively way.

"She said that that was a thing which every young woodpecker should find out for himself.

"After that, every time a fat grub was brought to me, I wondered if I should ever be able to find them when I began to shift for myself.

"At last my wings were strong enough and my parents called me out of the nest. I very soon found that the fat grubs lived beneath the bark of my own oak-tree. All I had to do was to strike my bill into the bark and bear off the prize."

"Were you sorry to leave your safe high nest?" asked Phyllis.

"Indeed it was not so safe," said the young woodpecker. "On the day that I left the nest a great black snake crept in. He swallowed my little brothers and sisters.

"My parents were wild with grief. They said that was the thing they always dreaded, that such things often happened in woodpeckers' nests."

"How sad!" said Phyllis. "I should never have thought of snakes!"

"They are our greatest danger," was the reply. "Squirrels sometimes come in and steal the nuts and corn we have stored away, but the snake is the most to be feared."

"So you store away food?" Phyllis asked. "Do you stay here in the winter, then?"

"Oh, yes, we often stay all winter. Have you not seen us flying about among the trees in the winter-time?"

By this time the bird sat on the window-sill.

"Must you go?" asked Phyllis. "Here is a strawberry for you."

"Thanks," said the bird, pecking away at the fruit. "I am just off to the corn-field. My father showed me this morning how to open the husks of the green corn to get at the rich, milky kernels inside."

"When you get your red cap, come back," cried Phyllis, and the young woodpecker's lively cry answered from the corn-field.

A LEGEND OF THE NORTHLAND[1]

Away, away in the Northland,
Where the hours of the day are few,
And the nights are so long in winter
They cannot sleep them through;

Where they harness the swift reindeer
To the sledges, when it snows;
And the children look like bears' cubs
In their funny, furry clothes;

They tell them a curious story—
I don't believe 'tis true;
And yet you may learn a lesson
If I tell the tale to you.

Once, when the good Saint Peter
Lived in the world below,
And walked about it, preaching,
Just as he did, you know,

He came to the door of a cottage,
In travelling round the earth,
Where a little woman was making cakes
And baking them on the hearth;

And being faint with fasting,
For the day was almost done,
He asked her from her store of cakes
To give him a single one.

So she made a very little cake,
But as it baking lay,
She looked at it, and thought it seemed
Too large to give away.

Therefore she kneaded another,
And still a smaller one,
But it looked, when she turned it over,
As large as the first had done.

Then she took a tiny scrap of dough,
And rolled and rolled it flat;
And baked it as thin as a wafer—
But she couldn't part with that.

For she said, "My cakes that seem too small,
When I eat them myself,
Are yet too large to give away."
So she put them on the shelf.

Then the good Saint Peter grew angry,
For he was hungry and faint;
And surely such a woman
Was enough to provoke a saint.

And he said, "You are far too selfish
To dwell in a human form,
To have both food and shelter,
And fire to keep you warm.

"Now, you shall build as the birds do,
And shall get your scanty food
By boring, and boring, and boring,
All day in the hard dry wood."

Then up she went through the chimney,
Never speaking a word,
And out of the top flew a woodpecker,
For she was changed to a bird.

She had a scarlet cap on her head,
And that was left the same,
But all the rest of her clothes were burned
Black as a coal in the flame.

And every country schoolboy
Has seen her in the wood;
Where she lives in the trees till this very day,
Boring and boring for food.

And this is the lesson she teaches:
Live not for yourself alone,
Lest the needs you will not pity
Shall one day be your own.

Give plenty of what is given you,
Listen to pity's call;
Don't think the little you give is great,
And the much you get is small.

Now, my little boy, remember that,
And try to be kind and good,
When you see the woodpecker's sooty dress,
And see her scarlet hood.

You mayn't be changed to a bird, though you live
As selfishly as you can;
But you will be changed to a smaller thing—
A mean and a selfish man.

—Phoebe Cary.

[1] Used by permission of and special arrangement with Houghton, Mifflin & Co.

ALL ABOUT THE WOODPECKER

SUGGESTIONS FOR FIELD LESSONS

Comes north in May—often stays all winter—most commonly seen in the fall.

Song—shrill, lively call resembling the voice of the tree-frog.

Male and female have crimson head and neck—upper parts black with white marking—white band across wings—most conspicuous when bird is in flight.

Lower parts white—bill wedge-shaped, strong, and sharp—tail strong and stiff, used as a brace when clinging to a tree-trunk and tapping with bill—toes arranged two in front and two behind for better support in clinging to tree trunks, etc.

Young birds resemble the parents, except that in colour they are a mottled gray.

Food is largely fruit—green corn, nuts, and larval insects procured from tree-trunks.—Sometimes stores away nuts, etc.

Place chosen for nest is usually a rotting tree, which is easier to bore.—Hollow from fifteen to eighteen inches deep.—Eggs pure white, generally six in number.