"Oh, I do so hope there are no little boys in the family," sighed the
red-headed woodpecker; and then she added, with much determination and a
defiant toss of her beautiful head: "I hate little boys!"

"Why so?" inquired Fido. "As for myself, I love little boys. I have always
found them the pleasantest of companions. Why do _you_ dislike them?"

"Because they are wicked," said the redheaded woodpecker. "They climb
trees and break up the nests we have worked so hard to build, and they
steal away our lovely eggs--oh, I hate little boys!"

"Good little boys don't steal birds' eggs," said Fido, "and I'm sure I
never would play with a bad boy."

But the red-headed woodpecker insisted that all little boys were wicked;
and, firm in this faith, she flew away to the linden over yonder, where,
she had heard the thrush say, there lived a family of fat white grubs. The
red-headed woodpecker wanted her breakfast, and it would have been hard to
find a more palatable morsel for her than a white fat grub.

As for Fido, he sat on the front porch and watched the people moving in.
And as he watched them he thought of what the redheaded woodpecker had
said, and he wondered whether it could be possible for little boys to be
so cruel as to rob birds' nests. As he brooded over this sad possibility,
his train of thought was interrupted by the sound of a voice that fell
pleasantly on his ears.

"Goggie, goggie, goggie!" said the voice. "Tum here, 'ittle goggie--tum
here, goggie, goggie, goggie!"