I’m not a showy looking bird like my friend the Woodpecker, but my habits are something like his — and so is my tail. He uses his, you know, to aid him in climbing trees, and so do I. They call me the Creeper because I am always creeping over the timber in search of insects. If you ever see a brown-streaked little fellow, resembling a Wren, traveling up a tree in short stages, now stopping to pick out an insect lurking in the crevices of the bark, or returning head downwards to pounce on an unwary fly, that is your humble servant the Brown Creeper. Up again, you will then see me creep, just like a little mouse, uttering now and then a low plaintive note; clear to the top I go, exploring every nook and cranny, never using my wings once. Last summer a little boy in the park wanted to get a good look at me, so he very slyly crept up to the tree which I was exploring, thinking, perhaps, that I was too busy to notice that he was there.

But I did see him, for we little birds have to be always on the watch against our human, as well as feathered enemies, so I just stood still and peeked out at him from the other side of the tree. Very slily then he moved around to the side, and very slily did I move around to the other, keeping the tree trunk all the time between me and his bright blue eyes. “He’s playing hide and seek with me, Mama,” he shouted, and so pleased was the little fellow that it was quite a while before I flew away. Like the Woodpecker, I prefer a hole in a tree in which to build my nest, but instead of boring I look for a tree that has some of its bark loose enough for me to squeeze in. I line it with dry grass, moss, and feathers and see to it that the overhanging bark shelters me and my four, or six, white, red-speckled eggs.