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JOHNNIE GREENHEAD 



THE boy had been wandering up and down Skunk River 

 all one Sabbath morning in the hope that he might be 

 able to surprize a ''^thunderpump'^ (or bittern, as I would 

 probably now call it), and so be able to learn just how 

 he makes his thundering noise. The old hunters of the 

 neighborhood differed so widely in their opinions on 

 this point that the boy had made up his mind that there 

 was only one way to decide the matter — to see for himself. 

 The morning was bright and the sun was doing its best to 

 warm everything into activity. Squirrels scolded in the 

 trees, flowers bloomed on the ground, and birds were singing 

 everywhere. In fact, it was just the kind of day that calls 

 man to worship in "God's first tabernacles,'' the woods. 

 There being no convenient church privileges, the boy's 

 parents believed that no boy ever receives any impression 

 other than those of reverence and good when alone with 

 nature, and so did not hesitate to let him go to the woods 

 at any time. 



Suddenly, not far from the old willow mill, the noise of 

 a "thunderpump" was heard. The boy knew this bird must 

 be on the shore of the river just around the bend and 

 determined to creep up, making no noise, and catch 

 it unawares. Slipping through the underbrush as quietly 



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