A RED-HEADED FAMILY. 25 



&quot; Hello, yer ! Hit s ben to work some more 

 sence I wer yer las time. Hit air done dug 

 another hole ! &quot; 



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 printipalis, 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. 



&quot; Be in ter dinner ? &quot; he inquired as he 

 turned to go. 



&quot; No ; supper,&quot; I responded. 

 &quot;Well, tek cyare ev yerself,&quot; 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 



