Strona 223 z 788

And again there is quiet below. A woodpecker on a fir tree raps

lightly and flies farther on and vanishes; it has hidden, but

does not cease to tap with its beak, like a child when it has

hidden and wishes to be sought for. Nearer sits a squirrel,

holding a nut in its paws and gnawing it; its tail hangs over its

eyes like the plume over a cuirassier's helmet: even though thus

protected, it keeps glancing about; perceiving the guest, this

dancer of the woods skips from tree to tree and flashes like

lightning; finally it slips into an invisible opening of a stump,

like a Dryad returning to her native tree. Again all is quiet.