After watching the progress of woodpecker affairs for some time, a dweller in the house under the tree decided to lend a hand. A worm-eaten hitching-post stood near, on which was placed pieces of bread for the hungry little wielder of the pick. This not only satisfied her wants, but served also to bring her mate and offspring near occasionally. At first the young members of the family refused to pick up this food set before them, but, instead, clung to a neighbouring tree and called vociferously for help. Then the father took the bits of bread and pushed them far down into the screaming throats. The young Romulus must have possessed wonderful powers of endurance if the woodpeckers of old ministered to him as vigorously in response to his infantile wails as the woodpeckers of to-day respond to the screaming demands of their own offspring. How gentle the wolf must have seemed in comparison! Several times the young woodpeckers followed the father to the limb in which the mother was chiseling a home. Together they watched her work, but during the first three days seemed to take no interest whatever in the hole she was making. Then the father went in and examined the opening, but flew away without giving any real aid. And all through the work his assistance seemed to be limited to inspection. In her digging, the mother woodpecker clung with her claws to the opening of the burrow, and, head downward, pecked rapidly. Sometimes she would throw out chips—which were little more than coarse sawdust—after three or four blows; again, she worked for a minute or two, then threw out several billfuls at a time. In throwing out these chips she slipped backward and forward over the lower edge of the opening, after the manner of that old-fashioned toy called a "supple jack." First she threw her chips to one side, then to the other, till the ground beneath the burrow, for a space thirty feet in circumference, was generously sprinkled with them. Though several persons were watching her, and though squirrels were springing about among the branches, she was not disturbed, but went steadily on with her task. While she was away on short vacations, the wren, dwelling in the porch roof beneath, frequently investigated the hole she was digging—sparrows examined it, and squirrels looked into it, but it was very noticeable that they all had an eye on her return. Once, in her absence, one of her own young woodpeckers scrambled to the edge of the hole, and peeped in for a moment, then scuttled back again to the place where the dead branch joined the trunk of the tree, and, in his usual noisy manner, demanded food.