Woodpecker. Henceforth you shall wear stockings of sooty black instead
of the shining silver ones of which you are so proud. You who were too
fine to dig in the earth shall ever be pecking at dusty wood. And as you
declined to help in building the water-basins of the world, so you shall
never sip from them when you are thirsty. Never shall you thrust beak
into lake or river, little rippling brook or cool, sweet fountain.
Raindrops falling scantily from the leaves shall be your drink, and your
voice shall be heard only when other creatures are hiding themselves
from the approaching storm."

It was a sad punishment for the Woodpecker, but she certainly deserved
it. Ever since that time, whenever we hear a little tap-tapping in the
tree city, we know that it is the poor Woodpecker digging at the dusty
wood, as the Lord said she should do. And when we spy her, a dusty
little body with black stockings, clinging upright to the tree trunk, we
see that she is creeping, climbing, looking up eagerly toward the sky,
longing for the rain to fall into her thirsty beak. She is always hoping
for the storm to come, and plaintively pipes, "_Plui-plui!_ Rain, O
Rain!" until the drops begin to patter on the leaves.




MOTHER MAGPIE'S KINDERGARTEN


Did you ever notice how different are the nests which the birds build in
springtime, in tree or bush or sandy bank or hidden in the grass? Some
are wonderfully wrought, pretty little homes for birdikins. But others
are clumsy, and carelessly fastened to the bough, most unsafe cradles