CHAPTER III
PLAYED ON A MUSICAL SKIRT
A thoughtful appearing goldfinch hovered about the strange tree. He would sit long in one of Snythergen’s branches as if lost in a golden study. Occasionally he would peck at the various wooden keys and listen critically, but the sounds he produced were sickly compared to the woodpeckers’ ringing tremolo.
“I wonder what he’s up to,” thought Snythergen. “Some deviltry, I’ll wager! He seems a wise little bird. Evidently he’s planning to do something to me. I suppose I’ll find out what it is when he gets ready to let me know, and not before!”
The goldfinch flew among the woodpeckers and assembled about two hundred of them in Snythergen’s branches. Then he made them a speech.
“He is explaining his project,” thought Snythergen. The finch would flit up to a key, peck it and return to his branch, chirping animatedly. When he had finished the woodpeckers tossed their heads and chorused something. Snythergen could not decide whether it was an oral vote or a cheer.
“The meeting must be over,” thought Snythergen, relieved. But his relief was short-lived. The entire flock flitted down, landing on his trunk, and covering it until there was a bird stationed beside each xylophone key.
“Whew,” gasped Snythergen. “It wouldn’t be so bad on a cold wintry day, but this is no time of year to be smothered in an overcoat of xylophones and birds!”
His sap coursed feverishly through his trunk and the veins of his leaves. He fanned his moist bark cautiously with his upper boughs. The birds were too absorbed in their scheme, whatever it was, to pay any attention to the tree’s unusual motions.