The vast number of such holes that a single tree-trunk can contain may be inferred from the fact that in fifty feet of a fallen pinetree in the San Jacinto Mountains of California it was estimated that there were 31,800 holes. Almost without exception the acorns are inserted tip in and base out and

Courtesy of Museum of Vertebrate Zoology, Berkeley, Calif.

THE WOODPECKERS' STORE

OF PEBBLES

fit snugly into the holes.

The Greater Bear, with its familiar Big Dipper, is again drawing near to the meridian at this time in the evening. The Sickle in Leo is now high in the eastern sky, and Spica, the brilliant white diamond of the evening skies of spring, is low in the southeast in Virgo. Near the meridian this month we find, between Auriga, The Charioteer, and Ursa Major, and to the east of Gemini, the inconspicuous constellation of Lynx, which contains not a single bright star and is a modern constellation devised simply to fill the otherwise vacant space in circumpolar regions between Ursa Major and Auriga.

Just south of the zenith at this time, and lying between Gemini and Leo, is Cancer, The Crab, the most inconspicuous of all the zodiacal constellations. There is not a single bright star in this group, and there is also nothing distinctive about the grouping of its faint stars, though we can readily find it, from its position between the two neighboring constellations of Gemini and Leo and by reference to the chart. In the position indicated there, we will see on clear evenings a faint, nebulous wisp of light, which is known as Præsepe, The Beehive, or as "The Manger," the two faint stars flanking it on either side being called "Aselli," The Asses. This faint cloud can be easily resolved by an opera-glass into a coarse cluster of stars that lies just beyond the range of the unaided human vision.

The birds take

great pains to hammer them in securely. They like not only the acorns, but the grubs that are often contained in them. As for the pebbles, they must make a specialty of them when acorns are not in the market-just to keep themselves in training for handling (or should one say "billing"?) the new crop. GEORGE F. PAUL.

THE CONSTELLATIONS FOR APRIL

IN the early evening hours of April the western sky is still adorned with the brilliant jewels with which we became familiar on the clear, frosty evenings of winter. Orion is now sinking fast to his rest beneath the western horizon. Beautiful, golden Capella in Auriga glows in the northwest. Sirius sparkles and scintillates, a magnificent diamond of the sky, just above the southwestern horizon, while Procyon in Canis Minor, The Lesser Dog, and Castor and Pollux, The Twins, in the constellation of Gemini, are still high in the western part of the heavens.

In the northeast and east we recognize our old friends of last May, coming once more to herald the arrival of spring. Ursa Major,

To the ancients, Præsepe served as an indicator of weather conditions, and Aratus, an astronomer, wrote of this cluster:

A murky manger, with both stars
Shining unaltered, is a sign of rain.
If while the northern ass is dimmed
By vaporous shroud, he of the south gleam radiant,
Expect a south wind; the vaporous shroud and
radiance

Exchanging stars, harbinger Boreas.

This was not merely a matter of superstition, as we might possibly imagine, for the dimness of the cluster is simply an indication that vapor is gathering and condensing in the atmosphere, just as a ring around the moon is an indication of the same gathering and condensation of vapor that precedes a storm.

Some centuries ago the sun reached its greatest distance north of the equatoras it does each year at the beginning of sum

mer- at the time when it was passing through the constellation of Cancer. Our tropic of Cancer, which marks the limit of the sun's northward journey, received its name from this fact. Now, at the time when the sun reaches the point farthest north, its height above the horizon changes very little from day to day, and for a short time it appears to be slowly crawling sideways through the heavens, as a crab walks, and for this reason, possibly, the constellation was called Cancer, The Crab. At the present time the "precession of the equinoxes," or westward shifting of the vernal equinox,-the point where the sun crosses the equator going north in the spring, brings the sun, when it is farthest north, in Gemini instead of in Cancer. At the present time, then, it would be more accurate to call it the tropic of Gemini, though this in turn would have to be changed, after a lapse of centuries, as the sun passed into another constellation at the beginning of summer. The tropic of Capricorn, which marks the farthest southern excursions of the sun in its yearly circuit of the heavens, should also more appropriately be called the tropic of Sagittarius, as the sun is now in Sagittarius instead of in Capricornus at the time when it is farthest south, though the point is slowly shifting westward into Scorpio.

Mythology tells us that Cancer was sent by Juno to distract Hercules by pinching his toes while he was contending with the many

from a point just south of Cancer, where a group of faint stars marks the heads, to the south and southeast in a long line of faint stars. It passes in its course just south of Crater and Corvus, the two small stargroups below Leo, which are sometimes called its riders, and it also stretches below the entire length of the long, straggling constellation of Virgo. At this time we can trace it. only to the point where it disappears below the horizon in the southeast. It contains

THE CONSTELLATIONS LYNX AND CANCER

but one bright star, Alphard, or Cor Hydræ as it is also called, standing quite alone and almost due south at this time. Hydra, like Lynx and Cancer, contains no noteworthy or remarkable object and consists chiefly of faint stars. Alphard is, in fact, the only bright star that we have in the constellations for this month. It chances that these three inconspicuous star-groups, Lynx, Crater, and Hydra, lie nearest to the meridian at this time, separating the brilliant groups of winter from those of the summer months.

With this month we complete the circuit of the heavens and return to the point from which we set forth last May.

From now on you will find our old friends of spring, summer, and autumn returning once more in their seasons in the same relative positions and at the same time in the evening, as unchanging and steadfast as the everlasting hills. No earthly changes affect their comings and their goings from evening to evening and from year to year. The stars of the Egyptians and the Chaldeans are the stars of the Americans and the Europeans. The appearance of the heavens changes very little in a few thousand years. If the ancient astronomers should return today, they would readily recognize their old familiar landmarks of the sky. To all mankind, of whatever age or generation, the stars are the friendly beacons that guide the sailor on the seas and the wanderer on land, sending gleams of cheer and comfort through the depths of space to all those who learn their ways and come to welcome them as friends. ISABEL M. LEWIS.

drew near it slowed down, while the motorman clanged and clanged his bell. But Jollivet moved stolidly forward.

It was the car that stopped first. Jollivet walked to within a few feet of the hissing monster, as though determined to investigate. The conductor came forward. He and the motor-man were smiling. They recognized the two little girls who lived in the big house and Jollivet who lived in the little house behind. But what they did n't know was-that Jollivet was a trick donkey and had been in a circus!

The conductor took Jollivet by the bridle; Jane slapped the reins and clucked encouragingly; Martha touched Jollivet gently with the whip. And everybody looked. But all that Jollivet did was to settle his little feet more firmly.

The motor-man laughed. So did the

passengers. It was a funny sight to see the big conductor try to pull a little donkey. But the conductor looked as though he did n't see anything to laugh at. He invited the motorman to come down and try his hand. By this time one of the passengers who were standing about suggested that the motor-man and conductor pick up Jollivet and carry him off!

Martha and Little Jane looked ashamed. But as every one else was laughing, they laughed too. Old Nell staid close beside the cart. Jack raced madly about, barking saucily.

Whether or not the conductor and motorman would have picked up Jollivet and carried him from the track will never be known. They were going toward Jollivet when the rascal put back his ears, raised his big, black nose- -and what do you think? He hee-hawed right in their faces!

Everybody laughed-all but little Jane! "Martha," she said, "you must get out and lead Jollivet off."

Out Martha got. But Jollivet only raised his head and looked wickedly at her. Then Little Jane got out and marched right up to the donkey. Raising her forefinger, she said sternly, "You come with me, Jollivet."

the bridle and Jollivet meekly followed!

Jane clambered back into the little cart. Jollivet watched her out of the corner of one eye. Martha was just about to enter the cart when Jollivet turned. He started off on a swift run toward home!

Martha, the conductor, the motor-man, and all the passengers cried, "Whoa! Whoa!" Little Jane pulled on the reins. But on Jollivet went.

It was a breathless little Martha and Old Nell that finally caught up with the small cart.

Martha clambered up beside Jane and helped to pull on the reins. But nothing would turn Jollivet again toward the baker's shop. He kept on running until he came to the big, front gate. And who do you suppose was there? The baker-man!

Jollivet turned his head triumphantly toward the little girls, as though to say: "Maybe you think I don't know when to come home! See! The cookies are here!" And they were! Jack barked loudly, begging for his. ging for his. Old Nell waited patiently. She knew that Martha would n't forget her. The baker laughed. He gave a cooky each to Martha and Jane-and one to Jollivet!