I heard his loud click, click,
early one frosty November morning. There was something impatient and
angry in the tone that arrested my attention. I saw the bird fly to
the tree where downy had been at work, and fall with great violence
upon the entrance to his cavity. The bark and the chips flew beneath
his vigorous blows, and before I fairly woke up to what he was doing,
he had completely demolished the neat, round doorway of downy. He had
made a large ragged opening large enough for himself to enter. I drove
him away and my favorite came back, but only to survey the ruins of his
castle for a moment and then go away. He lingered about for a day or
two and then disappeared. The big hairy usurper passed a night in the
cavity, but on being hustled out of it the next night by me, he also
left, but not till he had demolished the entrance to a cavity in a
neighboring tree where downy and his mate had reared their brood that
summer, and where I had hoped the female would pass the winter.
NOTES BY THE WAY.
I. THE WEATHER-WISE MUSKRAT
I am more than half persuaded that the muskrat is a wise little animal,
and that on the subject of the weather, especially, he possesses some
secret that I should be glad to know.
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