The Woodcock 24.9 
yet another day, and when I arrived, instead of four 
little woodcocks, there were only the remains of the 
once beautiful eggs. My friend strongly asserted that 
the mother had carried the chicks away to a place of 
safety. Be that as it may, a feeling of sadness came 
over me as I looked upon the empty nest, never to be 
tenanted again. I sincerely hoped, now that they were 
gone, that the gentle-eyed mother and the four little 
chicks were far beyond the reach of dog and man, in 
the fastnesses of the great swamp close by. And in 
my fancy as I wander through the swamp, when the 
sumac is crimson and the maple is aflame with russet 
and gold, I imagine that the fine holes bored in the mud 
by long bills were made by our woodcock family. 
