24 THE HIVE OF THE BEE-HUNTER. 



Gaining the ascent of a low bank, that lines the 

 stream he has just deserted, he stops at the foot of a 

 young beech ; in the green moss that fills the interstices 

 of the otherwise smooth bark is hidden away a cricket ; 

 the turkey picks at it, without catching it ; something 

 annoys him. 



Like the slipper of Cinderella to the imagination of 

 the young prince, or the glimpses of a waving ringlet or 

 jewelled hand, to the glowing passions of a young heart, 

 is the remembrance of that sound, that now full two 

 hours since was first heard by our hero — and has been, 

 in that long time, but tivice repeated. He speculates 

 that in the shady woods that surround him, there must 

 wander a mate ; solitarily she plucks her food, and calls 

 for me — the monster man, impatient of his prey, doles 

 not out his music so softly or so daintily — I am not 

 deceived, and, by my ungallant fears, she will be won 

 by another. 



Cluck. — 



How well-timed the call. The gobbler now entirely 

 off his guard, contracts himself, opens wide his mouth, 

 and rolls forth, fearlessly, a volume of sound for his 

 answer. 



The stream is crossed in a flutter, the toes scarce 

 indent themselves in the soft ground over which they 

 pass. On, on he plunges, until caution again brings 

 him to a halt. "We could almost wish that so fine a bird 

 might escape — that there might be given one "call " too 



