How does he know where to dig his hole,

The woodpecker there, on the elm tree bole?

How does he know what kind of a limb

To use for a drum, or to burrow in?

How does he find where the young grubs grow—

I'd like to know?

The woodpecker flew to a maple limb,

And drummed a tattoo that was fun for him.

"No breakfast here! It's too hard for that,"

He said, as down on his tail he sat.

Just listen to this: rrrrr rat-tat-tat.

Away to the pear tree out of sight,

With a cheery call and a jumping flight!

He hopped around till he found a stub,

Ah, here's the place to look for a grub!

'Tis moist and dead rrrrr rub-dub-dub.

To a branch of the apple tree Downy hied,

And hung by his toes on the under side.

'Twill be sunny here in this hollow trunk,

It's dry and soft, with a heart of punk,

Just the place for a nest!—rrrr runk-tunk-tunk.

"I see," said the boy, "just a tap or two,

Then listen, as any bright boy might do.

You can tell ripe melons and garden stuff

In the very same way—it's easy enough."