were unnecessary. The whole town, or at least the whole neighborhood, was aware of the birds' presence. Every school-teacher in the city, one man told me, had been there with his or her pupils to see them. So popular is ornithology in these modern days. He had seen thirty or forty persons about the place at once, he said, all on the same errand. "Look at the bank there," he added. "They have worn it smooth by sitting on it."
I have not been fortunate enough to assist at any such interesting "function," but I have had plenty of evidence to prove the truth of what I said just now—that the birds and their nest have become matters of common knowledge. On my third visit, just as I was ready to come away, a boy turned the corner on a bicycle, holding his younger sister in front of him.
"Are they here?" he inquired as he dismounted.
"Who?" said I.
"The red-headed woodpeckers," he answered.
He had known about the nest for some
