A RED-HEADED FAMILY. 25 
“~ 
“ Hello, yer’! Hit’s ben to work some more 
sence I wer’ yer’ las’ time. Hit air done dug 
another hole!” 
As he spoke he pointed indicatively, with 
his long, knotty forefinger. I looked and saw 
two large round cavities, not unlike immense 
auger-holes, running darkly into the polished 
surface of the stump, one about six feet below 
the other; the lower twenty-five feet above the 
ground. Surely it was no very striking pict- 
ure, this bare, weather-whitened column, with 
its splintered top and its two orifices, and yet 
I do not think it was a weakness for me to 
feel a thrill of delight as I gazed at it. How 
long and how diligently I had sought the home 
of Campephilus principals, the great king of 
the red-headed family, and at last I stood be- 
fore its door ! 
At my request, the kind Cracker now left 
me alone to prosecute my observations. 
“Be meter dimner?’’- he inquired.as he 
turned to go. 
““No; supper,” I responded. 
“Well, tek cyare ev yerself,” and off he 
went into the thickest part of the cypress. 
I waited awhile for the solitude to regain its 
equilibrium after the slashing tread of my 
friend had passed out of hearing; then I stole 
softly to the stump, and tapped on it with the 
handle of my knife. This I repeated several 
times. Campephilus was not at home, for if he 
had been I should have seen a long, strong, 
ivory-white beak thrust out of the hole up 
there, followed by a great red-crested head 
turned sidewise so as to let fall upon me the 
glint of an iris unequalled by that of any other 
bird in the world. He had gone out early. I 
