20 THE HIVE OF THE BEE-HUNTER. 



his labors, has opened his bill to yawn — or, perchance, 

 yonder little bird so industriously scratching among the 

 dead leaves of that young holly. Again, precisely the 

 same sound is heard ; yonder, high in the heavens, is a 

 solitary hawk, winging its way over the forests, its rude 

 scream etherealized, might come down to our ears, in 

 just such a sound as made the turkey-hunter listen; 

 — again the same note — now more distinct. The quick 

 ear of the hunter is satisfied ; stealthily he intrenches 

 himself behind a fallen tree, a few green twigs are 

 placed before him, from among which protrudes the 

 muzzle of his deadly weapon. 



Thus prepared, he takes his " call," and gives one 

 solitary " duck'''' — so exquisitely — that it chimes in with 

 the running brook and the rustling leaf. 



It may be, that a half a mile off, if the place be fa- 

 vorable for conveying sound, is feeding a "gobbler;" 

 prompted by his nature, as he quickly scratches up the 

 herbage that conceals his food, he gives utterance to the 

 sounds that first attracted the hunter's attention. 



Poor bird ! he is bent on filling his crop ; his feel- 

 ings are listless, common-place ; his wings are awry ; 

 the plumage on his breast seems soiled with rain ; his 

 wattles are contracted and pale, — look ! he starts — 

 every feather is instantly in its place, he raises his de- 

 licate game-looking head full four feet from the ground, 

 and listens ; what an eye ! what a stride is suggested by 

 that lifted foot ! gradually the head sinks ; again the 



