At the foot of Buffalo Mountain I found some chestnut ties which lumbermen had overlooked. Splitting and cutting into four-foot lengths was an easy task so I left them to top out the ranked wood. It was early May before I started on them — one of those clear cool dawns which obliterates all but beauty. I heard the emphatic chip-bang before the author became visible among the opening red oak leaves. The bird was still under the quieting influences of the cool morning. A good chance to loaf — ax relieved from duty, pipe put into action.

As the sun strengthened the call of breakfast aroused the bird and he commenced looking over nearby leaves and branches with an intense scrutiny which allowed no worm, caterpillar or bug to escape. The entire tree, a small oak about twenty-five feet high, was gone over so thoroly that I think not a single insect escaped. The search was frequently interrupted by Flycatcher sallies into the air which seldom missed the target altho some of these sorties brot the hunter in zigzag curves to the ground were the victim was beaten and devoured piecemeal.

Song followed hunger satisfaction and for more than a quarter of an hour we both enjoyed ourselves — he with Music, I with Lady Nicotine. Then he disappeared into the woods — perhaps he heard another Lady calling (his ears were sharper than mine).