This is not a tale of far away and long ago—in the Black Forest, for instance—but a true story of the summer just past, and it comes from under the shadow of our own White Mountains, where two boys made discoveries in the great out of doors. The boys let me into many of their secrets, and now the summer is gone I am allowed to tell this one, because, if you have never happened to find a big table spread not under the trees for picnic people, but high up in a tree for woods people, you will want to look for one next summer.

This was, of course, a wooden table, its cover both snowy and glossy; the plates, which were round, and all the same size, were of wood and placed in straight, regular rows, six hundred and fifty of them—that is true, for the boys counted and computed—a hospitable board, you think, and you will be sure of it when you know the whole story! The butler—who was also host—not only arranged but carved the plates, and wore a business suit of black and white, with a bright red cap and necktie of the same cheerful hue over a buff shirt.

The feast at this table was continuous, consisting of choice game, and the sweetest of sweets. The guests, who came and went during all the sunshine hours, were so various in dress and manners that they could not be compared with those at any public or private banquet ever known, so the puzzle must stop here and the plain facts be told.

The table was twenty feet from the ground, and set on one side of a tree, so, though of wood, and as round as the tree, you see it differed from your dining-table—and King Arthur's—in being tipped perpendicularly so as to arrange the plates in straight rows, close together, thus accommodating more guests. The table cover was of the best quality of birch bark. The butler host—or perhaps we might call him the architect of the feast—was the Yellow-breasted Sapsucker; if you didn't know him well you would call him just one of the woodpeckers; he had all their peculiarities, crawled around up and down the tree trunk, bracing himself with his tail, pecking, pounding and boring, he excavated the hundreds of round holes, each one a soup plate to catch and hold the ascending sap. This is what the Sapsucker seeks, and upon this alone he can live all summer, as proved by Mr. Frank Bolles, who tells us how he caught and kept young Sapsuckers alive till October, feeding them only on diluted maple syrup. But tiny insects are fond of sweets, too; they swarmed around and lost themselves in our woodpecker's full soup plates, thus furnishing him with the animal food needed by such a worker.

There was always a buzz of bees and big flies about the tree table, who seemed to feast and get away safely. These first attracted our attention, but if we stayed five minutes we were sure to hear the dear, familiar sound announcing the most charming of all guests—humming birds—you know they are brave, brave as they are beautiful, but we found them shy about coming too near a Sapsucker; they hovered over his table as over a flower bed, often lighting on twigs to watch their chance at the freshest and fullest dishes.

With the ruby throats, and on the best of terms with them, came gorgeous butterflies; the red admiral, the tiger swallow tail, and the antiopa were always there, and how bright they were seen against the snowy birch tree, in dazzling morning sunshine!

The biggest and boldest of all the free feeders is on record as having come and gone fifteen times in fifteen minutes, a fat red squirrel, hair brushed and tail curled, not scolding or chattering here, he seemed to suspect himself out of place, for, taking a side seat on an outreaching branch, he would frisk off when bidden to go, but back again and again till he had his fill.

Of course the last bird to leave the tree at night was the Sapsucker, but when he and all his family were gone, and the sun out of sight, we found a swarm of big yellow bees bustling about the high seats, and fancied that when at last their work was done the night moths and bats would have their turn, and perhaps some brisk little owl would take the squirrel's perch for a night lunch, getting away just before the sunrise concert opened another day of eating, drinking, and being merry at the white tree table.

Elizabeth Reed Brownell.

(The Yellow-breasted Sapsucker mentioned in the story is the eastern relative of the Red-breasted Sapsucker of our illustration.—Editor.)