AMERICAN ORNITHOLOGY. 



69 



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My Dear Young Folks: — 



Oil Y©tos Tmmm 



address all communications to 

 Meg Merrythought 

 156 Waterville St., Waterbury, Ct. 



Hans has just reminded me that I promised to tell you about his pet of two 

 summers ago. What was it? You may have three guesses. A Crow? No. 

 A Grosbeak? Oh, no. A Cedar bird? Wrong again. His pet was a black- 

 ish grizzled back, a chestnut-colored breast; its head was broad and flat, and 

 its body thick, with large, fat and short" legs, and it was nearly a foot and a 

 half in length. You have never seen such a bird ! Well, neither have I, nor 

 indeed, has our little friend Hans, either, for Woochu, as Hans called him, 

 was not a bird, but a Woodchuck, which burrowed a long tunnel by the side 

 of the barn. Hans had no brothers or sisters, and few playmates, so he made 

 friends of all sorts of wild things. One day he discovered Mr. Woodchuck's 

 front doorway in the barn shed, and in less than a fortnight had won the con- 

 fidence of Woochu, and brought him daily rations of cabbage leaves, lettuce, 

 and other dainties from the garden. 



By the end of the summer Hans and Woochu had become firm friends. 

 Hans would go to the shed and make a curious whistling sound, soon two 

 bright eyes would peep cautiously from the dark doorway of the underground 

 home, then the dumpy, furry body and buslvv tail would be seen and the 

 woodchuck would eat like a dog from the hands of the little boy. Hans gave 

 Woochu many a solemn charge not to enter the garden, and Woochu never 

 did, perhaps because his wants were so well supplied without his having to 

 forage for himself. 



